


Fields of Innocence

by Sweetbriar15



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Relationships, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Minor Canonical Character(s), Mutant Hate, Mutant Powers, Mutant Rights, POV Alternating, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Teen Romance, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 67,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetbriar15/pseuds/Sweetbriar15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd never imagined herself in this position.</p><p>No, that wasn't entirely accurate. She had imagined herself in this position, in her dreams...</p><p>This was a precarious place to be, indeed.</p><p>: : : </p><p>Part character-study, part world-exploration, and part experiment in rounding out minor characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Story title references song "Fields of Innocence" by Evanescence.

…

Prologue

…

She'd never imagined herself in this position.

No, that wasn't entirely accurate. She had imagined herself in this position, in her dreams (his lithe body entwined with hers, the weight and slip of skin on skin, their breath harsh in ears and lungs). It was the same boy (his fingers gripping her hips, her thighs shuddering as he moved between them, the sound he made in the back of his throat when she squeezed, a canine whimper tearing out of her throat and mingling with his name). She had imagined him as her mate (a label that he'd been assigned by her lupine self).

Yes, she'd dreamt about it, about that, plenty of times. But she had never pictured herself sneaking into this boy's bed at night and never speaking about their encounters in daylight. She hadn't connected this intense pleasure to a kind of non-relationship. Friends with benefits (if they could even be labeled that): lovers under the darkness of the silver moon, and friends during the bright reality of day.

This was a precarious place to be, indeed.

: : : 

 


	2. Young Velvet Porcelain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Candy Perfume Girl" by Madonna.

 

(Their first time had been a drunken mistake).

For some reason, the normal host didn't mind inviting mutants to an end-of-the-year party, and although it was hardly a large gathering there were a good handful of non-powered teenagers present. The feeling of welcome, out of the strained pressure of a school situation, made all the New Recruits happy. No one seemed uncomfortable, which meant new friends were made quite fast.

And, as teenagers will, the temptation of illicit activities sparked an interest in alcohol.

Rahne stumbled along an interior hallway. She would have felt much better on all fours, but that wasn't an option (although she couldn't remember the reasons why). She'd lost her flip-flops at some point along the way, in addition to the wrap that covered her spaghetti-strapped shoulders. Her shoulder bumped into the wall again, battling against the forces of nature (her sense of balance was currently weak). It was a struggle to walk with the restriction of her tight black skirt, but she had to try.

She wasn't sure why, but she was searching for the bathroom (she'd remember when she got there). Looking up, Rahne spotted the door a few feet away. She made her unsteady way into the bathroom. Her mission was suddenly clear: bathrooms were usually quiet (and maybe the spinning would stop in a quiet room).

And then the inside doorknob came off in her hand. She disregarded that until she realized that she had to get back out eventually. But at the moment, she was kind of tired (a lot tired), so she sat, resting her head on the edge of the tub.

Before she drifted off into much-desired sleep, Sam stumbled right in, closing the door behind him without thought. She blinked up from the floor at him as he turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face, mumbling, "Damn Bobby" and "in front of everyone" and "doesn't like me that way" in his distinctive Kentucky drawl.

Being in such close proximity to her friend (crush) made Rahne perk right up, even as the alcohol haze clouded the world around them both. She eyed him, her wolf side pulling decidedly dirty thoughts into the forefront of her mind (it had done that all night, though). He looked like quite the handsome potential mate; his dark-wash jeans were snugger than the usual daywear, and she  _knew_  (they shared a house) the shirt he had on underneath that button-up one  _had_  to be deliciously skintight. The top layer flowed seamlessly over his tall, toothpick frame. Hunched over the sink, straw-blond hair falling into his face, he seemed younger. Ironic that, though they were both upperclassmen, he seemed so much older than her, so out of bounds at eighteen. She had almost ten months until she joined him there (that wasn't such a  _big_  difference). He was a strong alpha male, even "young". Satisfaction whispered around the edges of her thoughts.

Then he turned around and jumped. "Rahne! What're you doing in here?"

Wordlessly, she held up the doorknob. Her eyes kept drifting up and down his lanky frame, languid and confident. With the alcohol making her senses fuzzy, she found her concentration on him sharpening with help from what could only be her hormones (and instincts that came hand-in-hand with her mutation). A deep, age-old tightening in her lower belly prompted her to pull herself into a crouch as his eyes widened at the sight of useless metal in her hand.

"Aw, damn," he groaned, spinning toward the door. A fruitless attempt to open it yielded no result, and he didn't even bother yelling. The loud music blasting throughout the house would have made the effort a waste. "Sorry, I didn't realize…"

His eyes locked on her, and he trailed off as she rose slowly to her feet, abandoning the doorknob on the floor. There was a startled look in his eyes (deer in the headlights), one that made her feel predatory. He was trapped in here with her. No going anywhere. The curling in her stomach intensified as she leaned forward, sniffing the air around him. She was slipping into heat, but was he? Well, he was male, so he didn't need as much prompting (bio-wise, at least). Only the knowledge that she, the female, was more than willing…

"Ah, um...Rahne?"

He swallowed hard as she leaned in, sniffing around his throat, nuzzling his neck. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she sought out the confirmation she was looking for. Leaning against him, plastered body to body, she could feel him beginning to react. She caught the heady scent of strong alcohol on his breath as he said her name hesitantly, nervously, and then—there. There it was, as she circled her hips right against his. There it was, her confirmation that this was reciprocated.

"Rahne…"

That low, longing groan echoed in her ears as she pushed him back. He hit the edge of the sink, disoriented as she pulled herself up, knees on the edge to straddle his hips. He caught her (she knew he would), hands gripping her thighs without thought. Pleased, she nipped lightly at his throat and elicited a gasp before her lips were squarely over his.

Soft, that was the first word to describe the feeling. Unresponsive was the next, but a moment later one of his hands was cupping her cheek and there was the firm, unyielding pressure that she instinctively desired. He returned her passion, driving it up in sync with her ratcheting desire. He tasted like alcohol (but also kind of like butter, and open air, and sunshine). Her hands framed his face, holding him to her, running through his hair, grasping his shoulders, raking her nails down his shirted back. Unhappy with the barrier, she wove her hands under it and growled happily as his muscles twitched under her fingers. Her hips pressed forward again, and again, the delicious sensation sending tingles throughout her entire body.

He caught her off guard. Suddenly, she was pressed against the bathroom wall, one of her legs slipping down his, but that was okay because the other remained stubbornly hitched around his hip. It was harder to move against him while pinned to the wall, but the sensation was more than worth it. He allowed her to get rid of that irritating cloth that covered his body from her searching hands: even better, he returned the favor. Shirts gone, pants (his and hers) lying on the floor, only the thinnest scraps of material were left—much to her approval. Her lips pulled back over her teeth in pleasure as his fingers touched the skin on her stomach, back, arms, and growled lowly when he hesitated under her breasts. Instead of understanding her wordless prompting, he pulled back slightly.

That was not acceptable. Irritated, she shoved him as hard as she could. The startled boy fell to the floor, a short gasp of surprise flying out of his lips right on the heels of an apology. "I'm sorry, I—"

Dropping on top of him, knees on either side of his waist, she planted her hands firmly on the ground at either side of his head. Sucking in a breath, she considered through an instinct-and-lust (alcohol, too) haze what to say. It seemed some words would be necessary, although she failed to understand why. Her head dipped low, towards his face, and she locked her gaze with his startled doe eyes. The myriad of emotions in them was surprising, but her focus was absolute.

One of her hands trailed over his shoulder and down his chest as she nipped his throat, drawing another gasp from his lips. "Sam…" She drew his name out, pressing her hips against his. He groaned, his eyes fell closed, and she frowned. "Please, I..." She wanted him to know that—to know—. She wanted—.

Her mind was so fuzzy.

He stared up at her, confused and longing (aroused), and she didn't have words. She whimpered, moving her hips again. "Sam…"

Something seemed to break. Up until then, she sensed him holding back slightly, hesitant for unknown reasons. A part of her was infuriated; he had been with girls before, much to her irritation (sadness). She was still new to the game, more for lack of partner than for her own reasons. She wanted to take her mind off of him after she found out about his activities, but she simply couldn't do a 'casual thing' with a boy; she was hardwired to seek out a mate for life. Plus, her options for a partner were incredibly limited and not all that appealing (except Sam). Rahne was the inexperienced one here, although not naïve-pure (certain personal items were a necessity for a healthy, hormone-full teenage girl). But only now did his resolve to hold back seem to break.

There was a burst of energy from her pinned prey, a flick of fingers against fastenings on her back, and the slip of material down her shoulders. And suddenly she was on her back, arching up with a gasp against a very talented mouth. Her fingers twisted into his hair, struggling to both push him away and pull him closer at the same time. Her skin suddenly seemed to be on fire where his hands fell, as he molded her body and skin against his own. One hand remaining on her upper body, one trailing lower to caress her thigh, to knead her hip, and all the while her body responded.

At some point in her hazy world (alcohol and lust), they had both lost the remaining fabric barriers. She realized this when his hand skimmed to her inner thigh, then up and—oh. She tossed her head back with a moan, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. His lips were mapping out her collarbone and throat, and she felt the rumbles of his own groans against her skin as that hand between her legs kept moving. That tightening coil in her belly twisted and twisted and…

She shuddered against him, a wild gasp escaping from her at the sensation. But that wasn't quite it, no, because it—she could sense it, instinctively. Her alpha was chosen not for the pleasure he could give only to her, but because she also wanted him to be her mate. That meant reciprocation.

She didn't quite know how to do it, but should she follow his lead?

As she contemplated it, feeling the sensations begin building up again as his fingers kept moving, she was startled when they disappeared. Her eyes popped open, a frown already forming on her face to demand, but instead, oh, oh… She bit her lip against the pain, a small whimper escaping her lips as she felt him.

A tiny tear trickled down her cheek as he murmured against her throat, near her ear. Apologies in a country twang echoed in her ear for a long moment and he stayed frozen. She didn't move, either, becoming accustomed to the strange feeling. Until she shifted experimentally, and oh again,  _oh_ …

That was all the prompting he needed and soon, she was positively writhing underneath him. The sensory overload was incredible. She found herself grabbing onto anything as that tight feeling built up again, her fingers scrabbling to find purchase anywhere. She settled on his back, digging her fingers in, pulling him closer. His arm under her back, pulling her toward him, echoed her efforts.

When they hit that point, she dug her teeth blindly into his shoulder to muffle her howl of delight, only vaguely aware that the sound would be alien to others (and possibly cause for concern). Rahne, however, was too overcome with euphoria to care much about why others would care. She was only pleased that Sam had to muffle her own name against her neck.

And then her bones were seeped in satisfaction, the claim on her partner now obvious (to her wolf-self). He was hers, her mate, and something to that effect was mumbled against his body as she quietly pressed little kisses to his skin. They lay there, wrapped up in one another for a long moment, until he muttered something that sounded like a curse. Confused, she lifted her head and hazily watched as flickering emotions crossed his face.

She didn't mind when he scooted away from her, rounding up their clothes. She lounged, basking in the after-feelings (and wondering if a second round was possible) and watching him calmly. It wasn't until he handed over her own clothes wordlessly that she began to wonder. But she followed his lead, reading her mate's body language to know that he wasn't up for more (sadly, in her opinion). Dressing herself quickly and quietly, she waited as he did the same and then stood, each of them across the room from each other.

A small bathroom had never seemed so large. She tilted her head to the side, considering him and trying, through that heavier and heavier daze (alcohol) to figure out why he seemed nervous. Deciding that she wanted to be closer to him, she put herself right into his arms. "Rahne—"

She pressed her lips firmly against his, lifting one corner of her mouth in a grin. "Ye… Ye are a good laddie, Sam." A very good one: as far as first times went, she had not had that bad an experience. The tunnel-vision, she could do without, though. And slurring her words.

And with that last thought, the world grew dark and faded away.

* * *

(What a way to impress the man she'd lost her virginity to. And the morning after…)

Rooms were not supposed to spin. And people were not meant to endure such awful headaches. And that odd feeling was just icing on the cake.

Groaning, Rahne curled up against her pillow and tried to figure out why she felt like this. Her stronger-than-normal sense of smell was picking up way too much for her head to deal with, and the only thing she was sure of was that she was at the mansion, and that there were many bodies around her in similar states, moaning and lying spread out all over the room—

With a gasp, she sat bolt upright. Then she immediately lay back down, closing her eyes at the onslaught of pain and at the sight that had greeted her open eyes.

They were in the Danger Room, and the main team was surrounding them. That wasn't the worst part, though. It was that Logan was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, that really made her want to curl up into a ball and pretend the world didn't exist. Could Logan really be this cruel? He couldn't possibly be real, this was a dream…

"Wake-up time, kiddies." Nope, Logan was real, and he sounded way too happy for what had to be a ridiculously early time. "Your morning training session is starting right now."

She pressed her palms against her eyes, knowing that as bad as the pain was now, it would be worse after Logan had his way with them—but the worst if she didn't get up right away. Trying to work through the blinding pain in her head, Rahne sat up and struggled to her feet, wobbling as she did. Her pillow (whom she now recognized as Amara) got to her feet as well. Weakly trying to get a grip on the world, Rahne shook her legs out, still trying to get used to that strange feeling between her legs. She looked around at her fellow teammates (pack), wincing as she realized none of them had changed out of their clothes from the night before yet. Bobby and Roberto seemed to be pretty bad off, holding their heads and wincing. Amara was standing like a zombie beside a squinty-eyed Jubilee. Ray seemed to be the best off, only the tension in his expression betraying the fact that he even had a hangover. He stood beside Sam, wincing sympathetically as the sandy-haired boy pressed a hand to his forehe—

Oh.

My.

 _Sam_.

The meaning of that feeling in her pelvic region was made abundantly clear as her memories of the night before came crashing back. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut as an embarrassed, embarrassing flush spread over her cheeks. She replayed their bathroom encounter in her mind with the horror of a person driving past a bad car accident.

Her heart attack slowed as she recalled with overwhelming thanks the birth-control pill she'd been taking for years now (for controlling her usual womanly cycle). One crisis a non-issue—but the other was possibly even worse. Oh Lord, how could she have been  _so_  out of control? It wasn't just being drunk that had made her so uninhibited, but her own instincts that had pushed her. Without the control she had while perfectly sober…

Rahne's fellow X-men knew an otherwise little-known fact about her mutation: that her animal instincts were incredibly strong. Every creature had natural instincts, and Rahne's mutation incorporated wolf ones into her own psyche. She tended to be territorial, had a pack-oriented mindset, and often had to fight the wolf's instincts in everyday situations.

One such instinct was to look for a mate.

Wolves mated for life; anyone she chose to become involved with would, by necessity, have to be seriously interested in a 'for life' deal. Her teammates were aware of that, too, since Jamie had asked while doing a biology project. That was one reason she was careful about her crush on Sam (not that he knew, of course).

She trained herself on a daily basis to suppress her socially-unacceptable wolfish instincts, and it was typically not a difficult task. But now, she knew that being under the influence made her completely susceptible to them. Too bad that knowledge came far too late. She'd practically jumped Sam, mauled him while his own judgment was impaired by alcohol, and now—now, he was marked as her mate. Not that any other girl would know that, of course, unless they could interpret what the imprint of her teeth on his shoulder meant.

And he wouldn't understand what that meant for her, for them, either.

Oh,  _shi_ —

Logan interrupted her thoughts as he clapped his hands. She winced at the sound, glaring at him balefully along with the rest of her team (pack). "All right, we're going to start off this morning's session with a short lecture, followed by a short simulation, and then you'll all be free to… _enjoy_ your Saturday."

She pushed away her earlier thoughts as Logan looked each of them in the eye. He sniffed and his lip curled up in response, and he launched right into a lecture. The sound of his voice made her head throb. All she wanted was a shower, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a nice warm bed… She thought of them longingly as Logan paced around, snarling and snapping.

He wrapped up his "short" lecture half an hour later, and her head was actually starting to feel numb. "So, today's simulation is a special little treat for all of you. Jamie was kind enough to volunteer his assistance operating the room while you all went through the course."

Each one of her teammates (packmates) groaned aloud. Not  _Jamie_ …

An hour later, she stumbled out of the Danger Room with one arm slung over Jean's shoulder. Rahne had taken a bad fall, and her knee was likely black and blue.

The main team had stayed in the room with them, keeping her team (pack) from getting themselves killed due to sheer exhaustion. That was a smart allowance on Logan's part, since he just wanted to teach them all a lesson, not kill them. Rahne had certainly learned hers, and not due solely to Logan's efforts, either. She was certainly never touching alcohol again. Now if only she knew how to undo what she and Sam had done the night before, she'd be good…

"Do you think you can make it up to your room, or do you want to go to see Mr. McCoy?" Jean asked, holding her gently.

"Just to me room, Jean. I kin ice it and it'll be fine." She bit her lip, belatedly wondering how she'd get ice.

Jean pulled the scarf out of her hair and called, "Hey, Bobby, come here a second." She waited patiently until he staggered to a halt in front of her. "Can you make some ice cubes for Rahne?"

He squinted in pain, but cracked a grin anyway. "Sure. Sorry 'bout your knee, Rahne." He created a few cubes, dropping them into Jean's scarf. "Those won't melt in room temperature, so just stay inside."

"Like I'd hop aroun' on me knee." She rolled her eyes at him, smiling in thanks. Her cheeks were tinted red as the ice-machine stumbled along to catch up to Ray and Sam. The latter paused for a moment (her heart leapt), but the other two boys tugged him along (her heart sank). They disappeared around the corner, moving with the rest of her team (pack). No one else had been injured.

The two girls were quiet as they moved carefully along until Jean let out a soft sigh. The telepath's eyes lost focus for a moment. She turned them back on Rahne with a slightly uncomfortable expression. "Look, Rahne," she began, and the pit of Rahne's stomach dropped. "I couldn't help picking up a lot of thoughts this morning, considering how out of it you all were, and I… I heard you. Thinking about what happened last night with Sam."

Rahne looked away, cheeks on fire. Oh Lord, just what she needed. Other people knowing about… "Oh."

"I'm not going to tell," Jean assured her quietly. "You're… I think you're old enough, and mature enough, to make your own decisions. Granted, the situation wasn't the best for decision-making, but regardless, I'm not going to tell the Professor, your mother, anyone."

Letting out a sigh, Rahne breathed out, "Thank ye."

"It's not my place." The redhead shrugged, offering a small smile. "I'm here for you if you want to talk, though, Rahne."

Jean brought her up to her room without further comment about the previous night, leaving her the scarf ice-bag. Confined to her room, Rahne was left with her thoughts (and memories).

* * *

(It was a very long morning. But the afternoon was worse.)

Drifting in and out of consciousness in the silent solitude of her room, Rahne was startled at the soft knock on her door. She sat up immediately, curious as to who would come see her in her room. It was Saturday, so everyone had things to do. And most of her team (pack) were likely holed up in their rooms, seeking rest after their night and subsequent rude awakening. "Ye can enter."

Sam appeared, hesitantly entering her room.

Rahne sank backwards, her cheeks darkening to a startling shade of scarlet. He bit his lip as he closed the door behind him, and she made no move to reassure him. It was hard enough to discourage herself from happily greeting "her mate" with a kiss. And there had to be some kind of protocol for this kind of encounter. Something she was supposed to say to him.

With her thoughts running a million miles a minute, she was taken aback to hear her own voice quietly asking, "How're ye?" She could have slapped herself for such an inane question.

He shuffled his feet, moving closer to her bed. "Reckon my hangover's just 'bought gone. How's yours?"

"Definitely not as bad as me knee." Rahne grimaced, prodding the makeshift ice-pack. "Logan kin be a cruel man." Their eyes met (a bit painful) and he grimaced for her, eyes shining with sympathy the way they always did. He could empathize like no other boy she knew; he always had.

"If that's what we get every time, I don't think anyone's goin' to any more parties." He was trying to get her to smile. He always did. It was just like nothing had happened—

The absurdity of the entire situation suddenly hit her. Here she was, with one of her closest friends (and secret crush), discussing hangovers and Danger Room pains after a night of underage drinking that had led to sex. Them. Sex.

This was "the morning-after" talk.

She didn't realize she was laughing until she glanced up and caught Sam's expression. Locking eyes with him was a little painful, but she couldn't stop laughing, hopelessly and helplessly. And to her relief, he caught the same mood that she was in and collapsed on her bed. The mattress shook from their combined efforts.

When they had finally calmed, she wiped a hand under her eyes and looked at him. He sat up, scooting closer to her as he sat on the edge of the bed. He smiled as he wiped a hand under his eyes. Sam's proximity made her tense, but she didn't shy away from him. A part of her was incredibly happy to find him close enough to reach out and touch. She stamped down on it quickly, recognizing it as the part that claimed him as hers. Red rose in her cheeks, but she tried not to look away from him. She had to bite her lip from the effort, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to say it.

He sighed, shook his head, and looked away. A pang of longing tore through her even as he rubbed a hand against the back of his head. "Aw, look, Rahne, I… Um, I know it's not much of an excuse, but—"

Her heart felt like it was tearing in two. She wanted to let out a mournful howl, to cry, to stop him and cover her ears with her hands. Rahne hadn't known what to expect, but she certainly hadn't expected this. He was about to utter the most horrible phrase she would ever hear.

_It was a mistake._

She couldn't handle hearing it. Knowing that he thought that what they had done was a mistake, when it had bound her to him forever… That he didn't want her that way, while she was fully devoted to him (it was in her nature)… He didn't want her.

"Ach, Sam! We kin skip the awkward mornin'-after talk!" She forced a smile on her lips. "Trust me, I was not entirely myself las' night either."

He seemed startled, probably because she took the pressure off him. "Oh. Uh, yeah. I know. It, well, it's all kinda foggy, an'—"

"Ye an' I, we were a bit more than under the influence. I know." She patted his hand, letting it rest on top of his. He blinked at her, seeming a bit dazed. "Ye dinnae have tah worry about me, Sam. We… we good? Friends?"

He stared into her eyes for a long minute, the longest minute of her life. What he was looking for was a mystery; whether he could detect her pain was just as unknown. She began to hope, feebly, that he could sense what she really wanted, and that he would act on it. Surprise her, make her happy. Instead, she got, "Yeah. Of course, Rahne. You're… You're way too important for me to let this mess up our friendship."

She nodded, swallowing hard to hold in her sob. He was so close to her, her hand still resting on top of his. Looking at her from under hair that needed a trim, telling her something that sent her heart reeling and hoping… She couldn't help it. She really couldn't. Even though her heart felt twisted and broken, she longed for him so strongly (he was hers) that she leaned forward.

He didn't move, his eyes darkening and cheeks flushing pink as she leaned in. Biting her lip, Rahne whispered, "Thank ye, Sam." And pressed her lips to his in farewell.

It was a soft, chaste kiss. A goodbye kiss, completely unlike what they had shared the night before. She pulled back too quickly for her liking, knowing she'd lingered too long as it was but wishing for more. The desire to be closer to her mate was so strong, especially with him so close to her. It took everything she had not to pull him towards her.

Naturally, she was shocked when she realized that he'd leaned forward before she could open her eyes again.

They flew open in surprise, but quickly fluttered shut in pleasure as he gently moved his mouth over hers. Her hands slowly found their way to his shoulders, eager to grasp him closer even as she fought against the instinct. But he seemed to be obeying her unspoken wishes, because slowly, surely, he was leaning into her, leaning over her. She could feel his fingers threading through her hair, a sensation so welcome she felt like crying from the tenderness displayed. The passion of the kiss was on par with those from the night before. His weight was solid on top of her, but not quite pressing her into the mattress. All the same, she felt like she was sinking.

She was sad to feel him backing off, as if realizing what he had done. His lips left hers, and she opened her eyes slowly.

Inches away from the tip of her nose, his face floated, taking up her entire field of view. She could feel their breath mingling, and saw regret written clearly over his face.  _Guilt_. Interpreting it with a heavy heart, she reminded herself harshly that they'd already acknowledged that it was a mistake. "Friends?" she asked quietly, feeling incredibly fragile. If he denied her that, she might just break apart.

He nodded, swallowing hard. One of the hands that had been tangled in her hair brushed her cheek as he drew back further. "Friends." He bit his lip. "I… I have to go help Jamie with his homework. I promised him I would. I just needed to talk tah you before I did…"

"It's okay." She fought not to beg with him to stay. "Go, we kin…talk, hang out, later."

He smiled, squeezed her hand, and…left.

Rahne stared at the door for a long time after he left, feeling as if her heart had been wrenched out of her chest.

(What a first time.)


	3. Fight Your Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "All the Arms Around You" by Halloween, Alaska.

(In between, there were blurred lines.)

It was incredibly difficult to keep her distance from him.

It was even worse because technically, there was no distance. They agreed that they would be friends, and she was determined to treat him as one. If she couldn't have him the way she wanted (he was still  _hers_ ) she had no other choice but to keep his friendship.

Sam would smile at her, and hang out with her, and they would work together in the team (pack) setting. The new normal became her focus. She was becoming an expert actress.

But inside, she would alternate between a desperate fire and a yearning for the sign that her Sam (her mate) wanted her.

* * *

(The pool was their first breaking point.)

A soft whimper escaped Rahne's lips as she collapsed on her towel. Damn rocks; it was a nice big one, too.

Fishing the rock out from under her towel, she tossed it aside and readjusted her body. The sun beat down on her skin and she sighed softly as she soaked in the rays. She could feel them, all over, but could hardly relax. The sounds of her team (pack) around the pool distracted her. Not to mention that she wasn't sitting alone; no, she had Sam to keep her company (hence, her inability to relax).

The connections between the "New Mutants" were complex. Tabitha and Amara could always be found together, and Jubilee usually hung out with either Bobby and Sam or the other girls. Rahne hung around Ray and Jamie most of the time, but Sam and Ray were like brothers and Jamie had a slight multiple-personality thing going on. Roberto was serious and rarely would he be found not doing something productive, and yet he and Bobby were best friends. And despite Ray's similarly serious nature, he and Roberto had an explosive dislike for one another.

If Rahne were to name her "best friends", she'd say Ray, Jamie and Sam. The "New Mutants" were by no means split into cliques, but Rahne couldn't deny that any time she wanted to have fun, the first people she sought were the trio; if she needed to talk, she went to them. And for anything and everything (except talking about her crush), Sam was at the top of the list.

So, it really wasn't odd that when she came out to the pool, she didn't lay her towel out near the other girls. She chose a spot sandwiched between Ray and Sam, where they'd staked out a spot with Jamie on the grass. Besides, she liked the scent of grass (in mid-summer, the scent was sharp and sweet), instead of those plastic chairs. Sure, they had room there for her, but who wants hot concrete and girl gossip when one can have cool shade and best-friend chatter? They may have been further from the water, a couple of yards behind the rest of the team lounging at the poolside. But Rahne liked to run and jump into the pool, anyway. And the distance was nice, really. None of that obnoxious flirting reached her ears.

All the excuses in the world could not conceal that being near Sam was a great big bonus.

She sighed. Only to herself could she admit that her crush played the largest part in her decision. It had been two months since the party, and she felt trapped in a perpetual dance with him. On the surface they were fine, but there was an awkward tension lying just under it. Their secret lay the most heavily between the two of them when others were around.

Rahne hadn't told a single person about their encounter. The only person who definitely knew was Jean, and she promised not to tell. There was a chance the Professor also knew, but he hadn't said anything. If she did ever tell someone, chances were it would be Ray; he was the only person she really felt like she could trust.

She didn't know if Sam had told anyone, but everyone treated her the same. She had the feeling that he'd kept it to himself, too.

Sprawled out under the sun like this, however, it was hard to think about all of her woes. She wanted to enjoy the sun. But damn, if his gaze wasn't making her feel aroused. It was part of her cycle, the hormones ebbing and swelling at steady intervals. Like any other teenager, she had her horny days. Today, (un)luckily enough, just so happened to be one of them.

It didn't help that she could smell his reaction to her. Her suit was little more than a bikini connected by a thin strip of material running straight down her stomach. It wasn't particularly revealing, but the illusion was quite effective. The scent of his arousal had hit her strongly at his first glance. And of course, she couldn't help eying him as well; the boy's body was amazing in only those swim trunks. Something to thank intense Danger Room training for.

She jumped as he cleared his throat and cracked an eye open, only to find him concentrating hard on the book in his hands. His eyes were frozen on the page, and the faintest hint of pink colored his cheeks.

Now that she was looking at him, she couldn't tear her eyes away. He was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows to see the book. The lines of his back and jaw were fascinating, as was the golden glow of his tanned skin. His hair hung in his face, still damp from the water. His trunks were a faded blue, having seen a lot of wear already. They clung low on his hips, a sight that caught her interest far more securely than any other aspect of his appearance.

He lay beside her, oblivious to her gaze. She drank him in: the glow of sunlight against his skin, the way his back arched away from the earth, the angle of his head as he studied the words on a page. The setting was perfectly calm, but somehow there was tension lining every muscle of her body. She couldn't turn her eyes away.

Her eyes rose to his face, only to see them raking over her every limb. The burn in his eyes matched the burn in hers when their gazes unexpectedly met.

They froze. Neither uttered a word.

Were they closer than they had been? She had no clue; she was drowning in his eyes. The dark shadows in them made a ripple of heat trickle down her body. He was definitely closer—

"Surprise!"

A small blur landed on top of Sam. Rahne clapped her hands to her mouth as Sam grunted under the sudden weight. Instinctively, he rolled and grabbed at the laughing boy who scooted out of his reach just as quickly as he'd appeared. "Get back here, Jamie!"

Rahne laughed as the long-limbed boy tripped over his own feet while attempting to give chase. His power activated and he flew into the pool, causing a gigantic splash.

The moment was lost, but she couldn't begrudge that as she watched Sam's head pop out of the water, a sheepish blush covering his cheeks in the face of angry, soaked teenage girls. He aimed a glare at Jamie, who could hardly stay on his feet as he howled with laughter—even as Kitty brandished a wet magazine in his direction.

To her surprise, Sam's eyes caught hers after that. An almost apologetic grin tugged at his lips, and she couldn't help but laugh sadly.

"There's that laugh again."

She blinked and turned around. Leaning against a nearby tree, Ray had finally returned. He'd disappeared almost fifteen minutes ago for a soda. Unlike the rest of the students, he had mimicked Scott's attire for power-related reasons. Ray and water didn't mix willingly, except for when he took showers (he was surprisingly fastidious about those).

Rahne eyed him curiously. "What do ye mean, 'that laugh'?"

He slipped his hands in his pockets, shrugging. "Why don't you tell me?"

She closed her eyes, rolling onto her back. With the sun on her fact, it was easier to pretend. Easier not to make it obvious she couldn't look Ray in the eye. "There is nothin' to tell."

"Nothing,  _what_ soever. Because  _nothing_  is going on with you two."

"Sarcasm gets ye nowhere." Irritated, Rahne crossed her arms over her stomach. "What do ye want, Ray?"

"A friend can't ask a friend what's on their mind?"

"Yes, a friend can. Ye, however, are merely buggin' me."

"I'm worried." Her eyes flew open. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark, and his arms crossed over his bare chest tightly. "You don't stand close to him anymore, yet you always angle yourself so you can see him. He makes every effort to avoid touching you, but he can't keep his eyes off of you whenever you're in a room together. Neither of you can say more than a couple words directly to the other when you're with other people. Before anyone else comes into the conversation, though, it's like you're in a world of your own."

Her stomach twisted unpleasantly as he pushed himself away from the tree. He was silent until he'd collapsed on the towel beside her, and she sat up in response. Her heart thudded unpleasantly in her throat. "Something happened between you two. I saw what happened just before Jamie interfered. What is going on?"

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Too much, all at once. She couldn't answer his questions, because she barely knew what was happening herself. There was a part of her that had wanted to tell him, but she always lost the nerve whenever she tried. She barely knew where to start! And here was her opportunity, one that she knew could not be allowed to pass.

Her sanity was on the line if this kept up much longer.

"Rahne. Please."

She couldn't look him in the eye. "Ye remember that party we all went tah, where we were drinking?" she told the air over his left shoulder.

"Of course." He grimaced, but she could feel the calm. He was just…listening. No judgment. That was the way it always was with Ray. Somehow, that made her confident enough to dart quick little glances at his face.

"We were drunk as any o' the rest of ye. An' I…acted on me instincts."

He hummed sympathetically. Ray always knew about her crush on Sam, and he was one of the few whom she gave an in-depth explanation on how her second nature influenced her. "So you made a move on him, and you both remember it."

"Um…like I said, we were both drunk. I… I took him off guard. Practically jumped him."

"Shit." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "How far did you go?"

She just looked at him.

The other thing about Ray was that he knew her so well that she didn't need to say the words out loud. He let out a long breath of air, leaning backward on his hands as he digested that. She looked away when she saw sympathy. "Don' look at me like that."

"Rahne—"

She cut him off sharply. "I may have told ye about my instincts, but it doesna mean ye understand them."

He snorted. "No shit I don't understand. But correct me if I'm wrong: going all the way, for you, means he's—"

"He's  _it_." A traitorous warmth built up in the corners of her eyes. "I canna look at any other male that way anymore, Ray. I tried." God, how she'd tried anything she could think of: boy-watching with her female teammates, sneaking out to a club or two, even attempting to sate her hormonal urges with images of attractive men. The problem was that, although she could recognize the physical perfection of any other man, she simply wasn't attracted to any of them. She'd even met a guy or two, and none of them could hold a candle to Sam.

There was nothing she could do. And he didn't want her that way.

"Does he know?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat at the quiet question. "I never told him before…this. He knows what everyone else does." The subject had been too uncomfortable for her to bring up to her crush. Despite their close friendship, she still played some information close to the chest.

"You should tell him."

"I…I canna put that on his shoulders. It isna fair tah him." She looked at Sam, lazily swimming around in the pool. He'd dragged Jamie in at some point, and the two of them were talking and laughing. "Can you imagine what he'd feel like if he knew, Ray? You know how he is." The shy boy had an 'everything is my fault' complex; the guilt he would feel if he knew…

Rahne jumped when a large, male hand fell to her arm. She didn't look up to see his expression. "I'm sorry it happened the way it did."

"So'm I."

* * *

(And then there was the wilderness training.)

The shelter could not have been smaller if they tried.

Shivering as droplets trickled down through her hair, Rahne rubbed her arms briskly through her jacket. Their attempt to stay warm while stuck in a storm like this was proving quite difficult. Almost as difficult as ignoring his solid presence beside her.

The day had started off the way she expected. Logan gruffly explained the details of this particular training-slash-campout adventure, inspired by some summer camp the older team did a few years ago. The New Recruits complained their fair share; Amara and Tabitha lamented the loss of blow-dryers and beauty products, whereas Roberto and Ray protested with the evidence of an accurate weather report. One of the few times those two agreed on something, and Logan completely ignored it. Steamrolling right over the teenager's grumblings and protests, he had simply crossed his arms and glared.

"You punks should be grateful I'm not spreading you out across the country. Chuck vetoed it 'cause it'd be too difficult if more than one of you experienced a problem. And besides, it's wilderness survival for all X-men in case something happens and you're stuck without me, Chuck, or 'Roro to come help. That don't mean you'll be without one another."

Bobby, ever the optimist, perked right up. "You mean we'll all be together?"

"No." Bobby's shoulders slumped. "It means that if, after you've all been taken to your places, you run across one another while finding shelter or grub, you're allowed to stay together if you so choose. That doesn't mean to go wandering around to find your teammates. It's part of the training. If you're…" Rahne had stopped listening at that point, no longer interested in a dissertation that detailed precisely why hurling them all into the wilderness for a night was "survival training".

She had been more than confident of her own abilities in the forest. Her natural lupine instincts and mutation made her especially well-equipped to handle the environment. She would be perfectly fine; in fact, she hadn't expected to run into anyone in the woods.

Yet here she was. And it would figure that Sam would be the one to find her.

She'd been perfectly happy, foraging in a bush for berries, when she heard someone crashing through the underbrush. Her mind had instantly gone into analyzing mode as she turned and lifted her nose into the wind. She'd been out there for two hours already, having been teleported out of the Blackbird by Kurt and left alone. It had to be one of her team (pack); they were too off the beaten path for hikers, and the sounds were clearly not from the natural wildlife.

Rahne was startled to pick up Sam's scent on the wind. Most of her team (pack) would have built a shelter immediately, or at least half an hour ago. Then again, this was country-boy Sam, grew-up-on-a-farm Sam, was-born-in-the-south-Midwest Sam. Forests were alien to him, even after all this time. Amara, Roberto and Sam had the most trouble with wilderness training (being that two were royalty and one was decidedly out of his element). Bobby and Jubilee had gone camping before; Jamie made it a habit to drag Mr. McCoy with him to the Great Outdoors every couple of weeks. Tabitha and Ray had lived on the streets (and in Ray's case, lower). They made it a point to know their stuff—an unhidden secret everyone avoided mentioning like the plague.

There was no question about what she would do when she caught his scent.

And that was how she ended up crouching underneath a makeshift shelter, scowling as rain seeped through the seams and trying to conceal her blush.

She glanced at him through her eyelashes as they sat in companionable silence. Small trickles of water wound their way from his hairline, down his forehead and across his cheek, to cling stubbornly to his jaw before continuing on their journey down his throat, disappearing into the dark fabric of his Institute-logoed raincoat.

"So…"

His casual effort at conversation startled her. It was only once he had spoken that she realized how hungrily her eyes had followed droplet after droplet down his face. Turning her gaze away quickly, she focused on the berries she'd placed in a small cloth bundle between them. He'd had small fabric bags in his backpack, along with empty water bottles and a few nutrition bars. Logan had thrown a small pup tent into Rahne's (definitely a joke, there) and a couple nutrition bars, as well. They both had a compass and map, but put them away as soon as a drizzle of rain started to keep them dry.

Clearing her throat as she swallowed a couple more berries, she replied, "So?"

"Um… I guess nobody's going to be wandering around in that downpour, huh?"

She smiled to herself. Sam, the king of small talk… "Nah, I suppose not. I wouldna want to wander around in it, especially not with me fur coat."

"Is it uncomfortable, when you're all wet?"

Her cheeks darkened as she forced herself not to react to the tingle that shot down her spine at his innocent question. "Me fur gets all matted down. I dinnae like it." Her eyes darted to his, and were unable to tear away.

He didn't seem to have thought anything perverse about his own question, but there was a tinge of color to his cheeks that made her wonder if he realized the double meaning. And suddenly, the woods around them seemed so much larger. The late afternoon light that managed to find its way through the dense cloud cover reflected off the rain, making the forest around them mysterious and misty. She felt so secluded with him, here. Anyone else in the forest had to be miles away.

Ignorant of the direction her thoughts kept taking, he laughed at her response. "I forgot how much you didn't like the rain."

"I like the rain!" she objected. "It's just that I dinnae like being out in it. Trust Logan to pick this day for his exercise."

"I know. He did this on purpose."

"Just to spite us."

They shared a quiet moment together, smiling at one another as if they didn't have a care in the world.

Then he scratched the back of his head, eyes falling down self-consciously. "I… I'm glad you came back."

She blinked.

"After Apocalypse. I missed you, when you were gone." He twisted his fingers around each other. "I mean, you knew that, we wrote letters an' stuff. But I…I missed seeing you every day, at school an' the Institute an' all. An' I just realized I never actually told you that before, an' it's been over for a long while. So…yeah."

Rahne struggled to keep the sappy grin to a bare minimum. "I missed ye, too, Sammy." He stuck his tongue out at the nickname and she laughed.

Light-hearted laughter, however, wasn't taking away the pang in her heart or the sense of longing. Her wolf side was quiet at the moment, since it was the two of them without a crowd, without other females around. Yet she wanted more. She wanted him to be hers and hers alone, and in name. Known to the world. She  _missed_  him, in that regard, even though she'd never had him that way. Not officially. No more than for a single night.

It wasn't going to happen. But she could dream.

Dreaming was dangerous here, though. She couldn't act on her impulse to grab and kiss him, not if she wanted to keep their friendship solid. There may have been opportunity, but she couldn't take the risk. It took everything she had to turn away from him and look out at the forest. She struggled to keep her sadness from showing, but she was doing a good job of preventing it from showing on her face. Or so she thought.

A rough, masculine hand slipped through her hair, and calloused fingers gripped her chin. Gently, he turned her back to face him—and why was he so close? There must have been more space between them than this. Confused, startled, and far too excited, it took her a long minute to realize that he was staring down into her eyes.

She couldn't read his expression. Usually she could read him like a book.

There was a heavy silence, fraught with tension. He opened his mouth to say—something, that was all she knew, because she didn't know what he wanted to say. There was unidentifiable emotion in his eyes and she wanted to know, so badly, what he was thinking, but—

But.

She closed her eyes as she heard feet stomping over soggy leaves and brittle twigs. She felt him pull away from her, and she whispered, "Someone's comin'." A sigh alerted her to his relief, although she had no idea why he'd be relieved.

She turned her head, noting with a sinking heart that it was Jubilee prancing through the rain, not bothering to duck her head under a raincoat. She walked freely through the rain, not a drop seeming to stick to her (even though she was soaked through). It was her attitude that made her seem impervious to the weather.

Sam reacted in his usual gentlemanly manner. He called out to Jubilee, made sure that she was safe under their weak shelter, pulled her close between himself and Rahne so she could warm up a little. Rahne tried not to sulk as the older girl cheerfully chattered away, filling the small tent with words. She tried not to let her jealousy show as Sam responded, enraptured by Jubilee's quick wit and bubbly conversation.

Her efforts were futile. She explained her behavior away vaguely, as a "wolf thing" (a "get your paws off my mate" one).

* * *

(Even familiar surroundings weren't safe.)

As far as movie nights went, this was a nice one. The pizza, chips and dip, various candies and sweets were delicious; the comedy films they selected were all-around crowd pleasers; and both genders were playing nice.

Rahne was especially happy for another, more private reason.

The New Recruits had quickly learned that certain restrictions had to remain in place for any fun group activity. "Always put Roberto and Ray on the same team or intentional game-inhibiting injuries would occur", "Jamie was not allowed to do anything by himself", and "never come between Tabitha and anything edible" were a few of these rules. In this particular situation, the considerations behind these three were taken into account: thus, the seating arrangement.

Roberto and Ray were on opposite sides of the room. Bobby and Roberto had taken the small couch, while Amara, Tabitha and Jubliee were on the large one with all the snacks laid out on the coffee table in front of them. Jamie sprawled out on the floor, dead center. Sam and Rahne had dragged the loveseat closer, angling it between Ray's chair and the large couch.

Rahne was not ignorant of the name of the seat she shared with Sam, but there were no other seats that they could have taken. And everyone paired up the way they had automatically, so she was either stuck with Sam on the loveseat or on the floor with him and Jamie.

Honestly…she preferred the loveseat.

She took her mind off of the situation by focusing on the movies. As the night wore on, a slow trickle of students heading off to bed followed each movie. Early evening had started out with "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", "The Producers" and "Young Frankenstein". By the time "The Birdcage" was over, only Sam, Rahne, Ray and Jamie remained and they could no longer honestly say that it was a "very late"; now, it was "extremely early".

Ray yawned through his laughter as the credits rolled. Rahne looked over her shoulder at him as she placed the DVD back in its case. "Ah, are ye tired there, Ray?"

"Hell yes. Look, the shrimp's already asleep." She glanced at the floor, where Jamie was curled up around a pillow. "I'll take him up. You two sticking around to suffer through a romantic comedy?" he teased, his gaze daring Sam to deny it.

Rahne pursed her lips, but refrained from mentioning that Sam had also wanted to see their last film. "I want to see this one, Ray. Ye dinnae have to if ye dinnae want to, but Sam owes me."

"What? Why?" he protested—for show, as she and he both knew he'd been the one to suggest it.

"If ye dinnae know, ye  _definitely_  owe me."

Ray grinned widely as he gently pulled Jamie into his arms. "Ooh, you're in trouble," he stage-whispered. Sam stuck his tongue out at him and stretched out along the loveseat, legs dangling over one armrest while his arms draped over the other. Ray, however, shot a hesitant glance back at Rahne that only she noticed. She nodded for him to go, showing that she was fine being alone with Sam. Then she turned her back on her friend, effectively cutting off the silent conversation. Honestly, she and Sam were perfectly fine being alone. It had been weeks since she'd told Ray about the party and the Mistake. She was  _fine_.

Putting in "The Princess Bride", she hit buttons as she heard Ray mutter, "Goodnight" to them both while leaving the room. There was a calm silence between them as she started the movie. And then she turned around.

Her lips curled up as she took him in, lying sprawled across the too-small loveseat like that. He looked so innocent with his eyes closed, catching a moment of rest. Carefully, she cleaned up their bowl of popcorn and empty soda cans. Placing them on the coffee table, she paused as she headed toward the couch. It would be nice to stretch out…

But her eyes kept falling back on him. He looked so comfortable. He was here with her, to watch something they both thoroughly enjoyed—the witty dialogue, the fight scenes, the humor. It was one of their favorite movies. And he…well, he looked a lot nicer than an empty couch.

She didn't know what possessed her. Surely this was breaching one of the boundaries of friendship. Maybe she could blame it on being tired. A little voice in the back of her mind told her (he's hers) it shouldn't matter.

She couldn't bring herself to care.

His lungs expanded suddenly as her weight settled against him, over him. She could feel the expansion against her own chest, making every effort not to reach to it. Instead, she played pretend as easily as she had for months. Lifting her head, she placed one hand under her cheek to prop her head up and forced her eyes to stay on the TV screen. She let her legs fall naturally along his, one slipping to the outside of his right, the other between both. Her free hand rested casually on his stomach, between their bodies.

Slowly, so slowly, he relaxed again. He didn't move an inch, and his breathing stayed completely shallow. But he didn't push her away.

That was enough to cause a small well of hope to spring up in her chest. She spaced out, her eyes tracking the movement of the film, but her mind somewhere else entirely.

She had theorized, after they came to their agreement. She wondered if he was concerned about the age difference—he was legally an adult; she was, technically, a minor—and if that had played a part in his decision. She worried that she simply wasn't attractive to him, that he saw her not as a woman but as a tomboyish teammate. Most of the time, she thought that he simply didn't like her the way she liked him.

But other times, like now, she wondered if there was another reason he had rejected her. She would catch him watching her sometimes, and Ray had told her the same when confronting her about the changes in her relationship with Sam. Sometimes she felt like there was something more he wanted to say when they were talking, one on one. And there were times like these, when they would be so close and so comfortable. But for all that she might hope otherwise, it could be chalked up to wishful thinking.

As the movie continued, she began to lose focus more and more—because the body underneath her was utterly fascinating.

She wasn't naïve enough not to know what reaction her body was having to his. It was all too clear, even though her number of sexual experiences with another person was limited to one. The strength of her reaction was a surprise.

She could feel him; ever centimeter of their bodies that met filled with a kind of heat she had vague memories of from their one night. The hand on his chest could feel his heartbeat, and his breath caused her body to rise and fall in sync with the expansion and collapse of his lungs. She was full of a warm, trickling heat; it was running down her spine, warming her from the inside out. The bliss made all sounds from the movie fade into nothing; she shifted her hand—he stiffened a little, but relaxed again—and pressed her ear to his chest. His heartbeat pounded a soothing rhythm into her head.

Her eyes fell closed at some point, because when they fluttered open again, the movie was five minutes from the end. She licked her lips, taking in her surroundings…and paused.

The warm trickle down her back was actually a hand. His hand, lying possessively on her back, holding her body securely to his. She swallowed hard as she processed that. At some point, he'd let himself hold her, and now she had to wonder if he had done it on purpose or not.

Lifting her head, she looked up straight into his eyes.

Again, there were unreadable emotions on his face and she couldn't tell precisely what he was thinking. But her heart leapt as she detected no guilt, no apprehension. Their faces were so close; her breath caught in her throat as craned her neck—

"Who's still up?"

With a startled squeak, Rahne threw herself off of him and to the floor. His long limbs contracted as he pulled himself up, still managing to cover the entire loveseat. Rahne pulled her legs under her body as she stared at the doorway, just as Logan came through the door.

Her heart thudded in her ears, relief seeping out of every pore as she realized he hadn't seen them. She ran a shaking hand through her hair, offering him a guilty smile. "We jus' finished the last movie."

He grunted and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "It's 3:30. It might be the weekend, but you have to sleep sometime."

"Thanks, Logan." Sam pulled himself to his feet and strode over to the TV. "Why don' you go on up, Rahne? I'll put the movie away."

A ripple of hurt shot through her, and a scowl formed on her face. Who did he think he was? There was no way she had imagined their closeness just moments before, and now he was dismissing her as if she were nothing. He wouldn't even look at her. She glared at his back, feeling irrational but altogether justified in her anger.

This was ridiculous. She'd made a move, what had seemed at the time like a small one but which she now realized, with adrenaline pumping through her veins and waking her up, was a lot bolder than she had ever been with him. And she wasn't delusional. He had been responding to her. And now…now he… Gritting her teeth, she struggled to keep her anger hidden. "All righ' then." Flinging herself to her feet, she threw herself out of the den, elbowing past the man in the doorway with tears blinding her vision.

In her anger, she forgot that Logan was even in the room. She only remembered after she'd made it to her room, but then she couldn't bring herself to care.


	4. Feeling Like I Can't Forgive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "What I Wouldn't Give" by Holly Brook.

(Their awkward dance had to end sometime.)

She had never been one for dancing. It wasn't her "thing"; she was more drawn to hard, dirty sports like lacrosse and football (the one Americans call "soccer"). She'd even tried her hand at rugby. But athletic pursuits like dancing, yoga, and gymnastics were too slow. Her mind worked quickly and her body could take a beating.

But her soul could only stand so much.

* * *

(It took him a while to realize she was unhappy.)

The next morning, Rahne woke up angry and stayed in a Mood.

No one approached her after Ray asked the cause of her unusual morning grumpiness. She snarled at him from halfway across the room, murder in her eyes as the rest of the New Recruits glanced at each other in confusion. She took it in and stormed out of the room, bare feet slapping their way toward the backyard. At the sound of familiar footsteps behind her, she tried to speed up.

She made it halfway to her refuge before Sam called out, "Rahne, hold up!"

At the sound of his voice, she stopped and shuddered. He might have noticed it, or just knew that she was volatile in this Mood. Whatever the case was, he didn't dare touch her. He was almost too close for comfort as he began to speak. "I… Ah, look, I—"

By this point, she couldn't handle him telling her  _again_  that they could be nothing more than friends. That what had happened the night before was nothing, could only be nothing. She could not handle it. "Jus' leave me alone."

"Are you okay, though? Somethin's botherin' you."

"Yes. Ye are botherin' me. Go away." She started to walk again, but this time he grabbed her arm.

And refused to let go, no matter how hard she tugged. "Rahne, please. Talk to me."

After he hadn't even wanted her in the same  _room_? "No."

"At least look at me."

That did it. He couldn't even look at her last night and now he demanded she look at him. She whirled around, eyes on fire. "I said,  _ye_  are botherin' me. Need I be clearer?"

Shock spread across his face, and she tugged her arm away violently, practically flying out the back door, away from him (from the look in his eyes when she spat those words at him). He deserved it, after treating her that way, after expecting her to talk to him like a confidant when he'd pushed her away (but the guilt in his eyes was painful, too).

The day turned into two, to five, then a week.

Rahne avoided him like the plague, biting out sharp, angry comments if he dared approach her, and walked about the Institute with a black cloud over her head. She refused to be in the same room as him. She isolated herself when Ray and Jamie were with him, and when they tried to approach her she stubbornly resisted their efforts. Students at Bayville High would only have noticed if they paid close attention to their mutant classmates, which was unlikely. She couldn't bring herself to encourage anti-mutant feeling, no matter how frustrated she was with Sam, and so at school she made no overt effort to avoid him. However, that was the most recognition he received from her.

By the fourth day, Sam began to show his own frustration. His initial reaction of bewildered sadness was seeping away as he continued to remain in the dark regarding her anger's source. She refused to give anyone, let alone him, an explanation.

By the sixth day, he threw snappy comments back at her whenever she poked at him, which only managed to fuel her more. In genuine Sam style, he'd then refuse to allow their interactions to become petty screaming matches and controlled his temper like a champion around her.

She found herself wanting him to just lose control and shout. Fight for himself, argue with her, be angry (he had the right to be).

The longer it wore on, the more tension built up between them. On one hand, Rahne knew she was being ridiculous—but on the other, she had finally snapped. She wanted her mate, and at this point she was willing and desperate to have his attention, no matter what form it took. Just as long as he no longer looked at her through the lens of friendship.

* * *

(When he finally got it, she ran.)

The Institute was quiet in the morning, especially on a weekend. Most Saturdays, the majority of the young mutants slept in—as it was the one day of the week that Logan was not allowed to pull them out of bed. Rahne was no exception to this behavior; she was a night owl, and proud of it. That morning, she enjoyed a long few minutes of delicious, lazy stretching before finally climbing out of bed a little after ten. Since she wasn't quite hungry yet, she meandered down the hallways, heading toward the library. Her hope was to find a couple of books that she could curl up with for the rest of the day.

On her way to the library, she noticed that the door to the movie den was cracked open. As she passed, she heard two male voices whispering angrily at each other. Her sharp ears pricked up and she paused, curiosity overwhelming the knowledge that she shouldn't eavesdrop.

"…did something."

"I don't know what I did."

"Don't give me that…"

Startled, she took a step back and covered her mouth to hide her gasp. Of course, just the boy she wanted to avoid. His companion, however, surprised her. Ray's interest in the situation had grown daily, her refusal to talk to him taken as a challenge. The most she had told Ray was to leave it alone, but apparently he'd taken the situation into his own hands.

Even though she didn't want to see him, she could hear Sam's voice through the door as he defended himself. "I don't  _know_. I've told you over and over what happened that night."

"Tell me again." She shifted closer to the door.

A heavy sigh. "She put in the movie. We watched it quietly, didn't talk or anythin' so it can't be something I said. She fell asleep and woke up when the movie ended. Logan came in and told us to get. I told her I'd take care of cleanin' up, she said all righ', and left the room. That was it."

Torn, she struggled to reconcile her relief and disappointment. She wanted to know that she wasn't imagining their connection—no, she hadn't. She  _knew_  he felt it, too. Then why hadn't he said something about the  _way_  they watched the movie to Ray? She didn't  _want_  Ray to know, though. (But if he had told, it would have been proof he cared). She clamped one hand over her mouth, struggling not to sob.

What was wrong with her? (Why didn't he want her?)

"You're sure."

"Of course I'm sure."

"Well,  _obviously_  something else happened, and you're not telling me."

"I told you everything."

"Bullshit."

She stuffed a knuckle into her mouth to keep herself silent, leaning in as she listened intently. Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest as she waited, anxious to hear.

"I'm not—"

"Shut up." Ray exhaled heavily. "You know what, that's it. I've kept my questions in, but it's no good anymore. The two of you've been hiding something for months, and I'm willing to bet that it has to do with what's been going on this past week. Now suck it up and start talking."

Her stomach twisted. She didn't want—he couldn't—she'd told Ray, but left it alone after. Why was he asking Sam? He didn't need to know—that was  _private_. It was between them and he—he didn't need to know. Sam couldn't tell him (but if he did,  _it_  meant something). But— _no_. No, he  _couldn't_.

She was pulled out of her panicked thoughts by the sound of table legs groaning. Sam's voice was sharper than she had ever heard it. "Back off."

"Why? What don't you want me to know?"

The same noise was now accompanied by a soft grunt. "Back. Off."

"Stop shoving me or I'll start shoving back, Guthrie."

"Go ahead. Won' make me tell you nothin'."

"Oh, so you admit it now."

"Get out of my face, Crisp. Quit askin' me questions and  _leave it_."

"Fuck no."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because Rahne's like my sister and she's not telling me shit. Because you're my friend, and you've got no fucking idea how to fix it on your own. So, you know what? Either you tell me right here, right now, or it'll just keep eating at you." There was a long, drawn-out silence. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You've been off for months. I'm not one for touchy-feely girl crap, but man, you need to tell someone what's up."

Rahne held her breath, hands clasped together. She pressed her lips to her folded fingers, listening intently.

Inside, a heavy release of air alerted her to one of the boy's sighs. "I can't."

"You mean you fucking won't."

"I  _mean_  I—" Sam snorted. "I mean I can't, Ray," he added more softly. "The thing we've been hiding, I  _can't_  tell you about that. And I honestly haven't the faintest idea why she's furious with me now."

Rahne pressed her shoulder to the wall, resting her forehead on the doorframe. So he…he wasn't telling Ray. But also…he wasn't  _telling_  Ray. It was something to be ashamed of, something to keep secret. She was torn over how to feel about that, but her pain at his second statement was perfectly clear. He didn't understand why she was mad at him? Oh,  _damn_  him! She couldn't believe—

"Shit, man... Fine. Okay." A heavy sigh. "I know what happened at the party."

She straightened like a live wire had touched her spine. Her gasp had a mirror echo.

"Yeah, stop looking at me like that. I didn't tell anybody. It's not my shit to tell."

"How long have you known?" The wooden tone of his voice echoed through her skull. She sagged against the wall, one hand pressed to her mouth to keep herself silent.

"Months." Feet padded softly across the ground. "It's tearing her up, too, Sam. You need to talk to her about it."

"We already did. She wants to ignore it." No,  _he_  did. He was the one who  _said_  it—she remembered  _that_ , painfully.

"Bull. Try again. I wasn't kidding when I said I think it has something to do with her anger now. I don't—"

"Wait. You think—no. I…"

"What?"

"Fuck."

 _What_? Sam said… Rahne shook her head, blinking quickly as she struggled to process it.

He— _cursed_?

Sam didn't curse.  _Never_.

Her mind was still processing. It took her too long to realize that footsteps were sounding on the carpet, that the voices had moved closer to the door. She jumped as the crack disappeared, and—oh  _shit_ , Sam. In front of her. Staring at her blankly, confused. The intensity of his expression was marred by surprise.

She was sure he hadn't expected to see her so immediately after that conversation.

There was so much emotion on his face that she automatically took a step back, trying to get distance. It hurt so much already, having heard what she did. What else could he possibly think of to say to her? Hadn't he already said enough?

Ray appeared in the doorway. He took one look at her and she saw his guilt before the walls went up. "Well, fuck." Understatement. Predictable, typical him.

But it did spur her to move. She didn't want to be here, near either of them. She didn't know what she felt toward Ray at that moment, let alone have the strength to deal with Sam. She needed space, distance.

She turned tail and ran.

Twin exclamations followed her as she raced down the hallway, headed toward her usual sanctuary. She blocked out everything around her as she burst out the back doors, running all the way to the trees. The shade enveloped her as she stumbled to a halt, falling to her knees at the base of her tree.

Tears ran down her cheeks the entire time. She was far too full; they were simply spilling out. She was so mad at Ray, so mad at Sam. So hurt by his ignorance of her pain. So confused about why Ray would allude that Sam was hurting, from what  _he_  had decided. Wanting to know so badly what was going on, it was all the worse that she couldn't. She shoved herself back up to her feet. Ruled so strongly by her hormones (it was so  _close_  to full moon), she didn't trust herself around him.

The last couple of months, she'd managed to avoid him near and on full-moon days because her urges were so strong. The unwelcome feeling only served to make her angrier, because he was hers-but-not-hers. And he didn't feel the same, didn't want her the way she wanted him. Her fingers wove through her hair, tugging at the ponytail holders until they fell out.

The complicated emotions were made all the worse by the fact that she couldn't transform into her wolf body. If she did, then her wolf side had a stronger influence on her decisions. This was fine for simulations and battle, because her instinct was focused on keeping her team (pack) safe. But with all the emotions running through her body, she didn't know whether she'd be more tempted to attack Sam or sexually assault him.

She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, gritting her teeth. Her wolf side didn't understand her human emotions like betrayal and confusion. The wolf saw things in a quite straightforward way, and since she had tied herself to Sam, that side was anxious to be physically closer to him. Especially since she'd been depriving herself of that for so long, for so many months.

She didn't have any idea what to do.

* * *

(They had to face each other to fix it.)

She stayed outside, alone, until dinner. Then she was forced to endure everyone's company.

During the meal, she fidgeted in her seat and refused to look anyone in the eye. Across the table and a few seats down, heated eyes strayed to her face time and again throughout the meal. She put every effort into avoiding his persistent gaze.

Rahne grew more anxious as her fellow students began leaving the table. She could feel Sam watching her, probably waiting for her to get up so that he could follow her. Then pin her down in one room and force her to talk to him.

She didn't want to talk to him. She would only end up shouting at (or doing very naughty things with) him. The wolfish desire conflicted strongly with her more human sensibilities.

There was no way to reconcile the two.

Rahne took her chance to sneak out of the dining room when Kurt tripped Bobby with his tail, causing a small riot on Sam's side of the room. Slipping out the back way, she went through the kitchen and went through the entrance foyer, taking the stairs two at a time and almost flying down the corridor to her room. She shut the door behind her with a heavy sigh of relief and collapsed on her bed.

Her arms pulled a pillow out of shape, molding it to her body as she settled comfortably on her stomach. She could try running and hiding forever, but that would only work so long. They were still on the same team, and there was no way she was leaving the Institute to avoid contact with him. It was a possibility, but one that she did not like one bit. She'd found a family here, one that her wolfish self took to immediately and loved like no other.

She'd been a "lone wolf" before coming to the Institute, having been raised in near solitary confinement. That was due in part to her first guardian and, then, that guardian's reaction to the awakening of her mutant abilities.

This was her home and her family. Try as she might to be angry at Sam, she could no sooner truly hate him than she could stop catching scents in the air. She would have to face him and have it all out sooner or later. Her irrationality had dug at the back of her mind for days; there was no real reason to be mad at him, although being hurt was a different story. Lying on her bed, she came to a conclusion: all of that had to come out if she wanted it to get better. There was only one thing that she could make the conscious effort to keep from him, and that was the way in which they were now bound.

For hours, she lay there thinking and watching the landscape change as the sun set. In its place, the moon was shining brightly. The curtains remained open, and although she had never turned her bedroom light on, she could still see. The silver moonlight illuminated everything outside—including  _that_.

A shadowy figure was pulling itself up and over the edge of her balcony.

She sat up immediately, her shoulders already tensing in preparation to change. Mysterious figures appearing on her balcony at—she glanced at the clock—10:31 PM were definitely not normal, or welcome. She silently climbed off her bed, padding to the door and bracing herself for attack. She shoved open the sliding glass—

And was hit full-force by a familiar scent. Reeling from the lungful of it, she struggled to keep her wolfish side under wraps and her churning stomach from emptying its contents.

Sam.

Now she could see his familiar face, outlined by the light of the glowing moon. He was dressed simply, in pajama pants and a plain T-shirt. She almost felt overdressed, still in her jeans and shirt from the day, although she quickly pushed that thought from her mind.

His expression was intense and she had to glance away immediately. Anger and frustration seeped from every line of hard muscle, and she could feel his eyes roving over her face as if searching for something. How was this conversation supposed to go? She had no idea what to say to him. He'd finally trapped her and there was nothing she could do about it. Sure, she could kick him out, but since he'd obviously climbed up here he would be in a lot of trouble for sneaking into her room. Angry as she was, that kind of punishment would be overboard and she knew it.

They stood in silence for a long minute. She refused to look at him, too overwhelmed, or guilty (or horny). It was a combination of feelings. She felt too much around him.

She finally asked, "What're ye doing here?"

"I had to climb up to your room so you couldn' run away. Says somethin' about us, doesn' it?"

She winced. His frustration echoed in every syllable, pronouncing the words with a strong accent. It only came out this strongly when he was emotional. She stared at a spot over his shoulder, unable to look him in the eye or think of anything to say.

"You know, I thought everythin' was fine. It sure seemed like it for a while. I'm not sayin' our friendship was rightly back on track, but I thought you were good and that was fine! I was fine if you were!" He threw his hands up in the air; her eyes tracked him as he paced back and forth in front of her. "We talked abou' the party, and we agreed. And I thought I was goin' crazy, reading signs wrong an' everythin'. I—Gaw! You jus' keep on messin' with my head!"

 _She_  messed with  _his_  head? "Excuse me?" she gasped. Her hands shook in tightly clenched fists.

He whirled around, eyes finally meeting hers. The emotion in them made her quiver uncontrollably. "I don't know what you want anymore, Rahne! I'll admit I'm jus' as much to blame for it as you, but if you're so mad a' me abou' movie nigh', why didn't you jus' say so? Or hell, why did you lay on me in the firs' place?"

 _Oh_. Somehow, he'd gotten it after all. A small part of her was thrilled for him to understand, but that same part was right there with the rest of her in wondering how she could justify being angry at him. It had just been acknowledged and already her complaints were almost thrown out of the water. "I jus' am!" she floundered, feeling the heat in her cheeks and desperately trying to pull her thoughts together.

He was suddenly in her personal space, much too close for comfort. She found herself backing up towards the doorway, and he reached around her to pull the sliding glass door almost all the way closed. "You don' get to run," he growled. A small tremor shook down her spine. "Why are you mad?"

"I…" Her tongue was twisted, not just because of her feeble excuse—even she knew they were weak—but also by the incredible allure of this Sam. This dominant, angry man (who was  _hers_ ), who was making her feel weak at the knees. Her mind was full of fuzzy turmoil and she blurted out the first answer she could. "Because ye were ashamed tah be near me!"

The look on his face was completely genuine. Her outburst had shocked him; she could see the pained confusion in his eyes. "What are you talkin' about?"

Her shoulders slumped and the words just came spilling out. "I thought that we were—that ye—but, when Logan came in, ye jus' jumped up and couldna look at me, and dismissed me from the room without so much as a glance. An' I know it's silly, but I jus' canna help it. Ye are nah the only confused one. I jus'—I want ye." She bit her lip, closing her eyes. A flush spread over her cheeks as that last bit slipped out. And suddenly, it was as if her wolf-self had taken over her mouth. "I canna stop thinkin' about the party. It's in me nature, and I keep gettin' caught up in it and it makes everythin' so confused in me head."

The quiet evening enveloped them as her confession hung in the air. This was it; this was the point where he'd back away from her awkwardly and try to blunder through a nice rejection. She'd as good as told him that she wanted to drop her panties every time he was near.

Rough, calloused fingers nudged her chin up. She opened her eyes on her own. His expression was a mixture of compassion and…something else. Something she couldn't quite read. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I thought that you were goin' to be uncomfortable, considerin' what he might've seen."

She swallowed hard. "I thought…"

"I'd never be ashamed to be near you, Rahne. You're my friend. I'd do anything for you."

For a long instant, their gazes held. She found herself nodding slowly, embarrassment keeping her cheeks a light pink. "I'm sorry, Sam. I jus'… It's difficult to know what ye are thinkin' sometimes. But I know I was bein' a brat this week, and I treated ye an' everyone right badly."

"Aw, it's all right."

"No, it's not. But it…it will be, right?" She pleaded with her eyes.

His genuine smile filled her with relief. "Of course." He backed off a little, broad shoulders no longer blocking the moonlight. She could still see lingering confusion in his expression, and he didn't hold it in. "What's this about your…nature? You mean wolf stuff?"

Oh, Lord. She looked down again, her heel starting to bounce up and down as she settled her weight on the other leg. "I…dinnae worry about—"

"Please, Rahne." He stepped closer again, that eager, puppy-dog expression firmly in place. "Tell me. I want to help if I can."

Against her will, she snorted. His frown made her sigh. "Lord, this is embarrassin'. I… Look. Me body is influenced by the moon and by me instincts. Cycles and stages. An' when the moon is in certain stages, I... Now that ye an' I, we—at the party an' all, I want—need—" She cut herself off with a cough as his cheeks abruptly flamed red. "Yeah. I kin handle it, but it makes me a little confused sometimes. Like movie night." She winced as she reduced her urge to a basic, incredibly understated form.

His head bobbed up and down slowly. He seemed shell-shocked.

Her hand lifted of its own accord, resting gently on the side of his face. "It's all righ', Sam. For me, it's jus' natural." Yeah, because he was  _hers_.

"O-okay." He shook his head swiftly and clasped her hand in his, grimacing empathetically. "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him, suppressing the spike of pain in her chest as he apologized to her. This was the Sam she knew so well, the one she was attracted to; his kind, decent nature shone through even the most awkward circumstances. Even though it certainly wasn't his fault he was just the type of person to apologize for this. She shook her head, knowing that even after she let him off the hook he'd still feel this way. Her heart swelled as she smiled at him.

"Dinnae be sorry."

Their conversation petered out to pleasantries, and she was grateful when he disappeared back over the edge of her balcony.

She wanted (needed) so much more than he was willing (knew) to give.

* * *

(And it all led up to their second time.)

Their renewed friendship took everyone by surprise the next day, but it was of little importance once the teens caught sight of the breaking news report that morning.

The body of a little girl, only six years old, was found beaten to death in a public street. Her feathered hair identified her as a mutant, and signs pointed to a vocal anti-mutant hate group: the Friends of Humanity. This was one of many similar cases that had cropped up around the country. Mutants of various ages went missing for a few days to a week and were found dead in some violent manner, always bearing markers of a physical mutation—and all connected to the FOH.

The disturbing thing about this case was that it was fifteen minutes away, in Silver Ridge.

Bayville was on the maps, especially after the Apocalypse nightmare. Although the general feeling towards mutants was slightly better after he had been dealt with, hatred was still strong. Acceptance, peace and tolerance took time. Anti-mutant groups were still commonplace, and Rahne felt slightly uncomfortable with the idea that the Institute was so well-known. An attack so close to the place she considered home left her shaken. If it could happen fifteen minutes away, in a place not known for mutant presence—what would happen in Bayville? Everyone in the world knew they were an entire  _school_  full of mutant children.

She wasn't the only one to feel that way. Her teammates (pack) were speaking of all the horror stories they had heard, all the things that other students in school gossiped about behind their hands. The normal students tended to gape at them with wide eyes, probably wondering every time another story appeared in the news if one of them would be kidnapped and killed next. She was sure her teammates (pack) wondered the same thing; she certainly did.

The Professor was taking it seriously as well. Logan disappeared sometime during the day, and the Professor informed them that he was heading out to Silver Ridge. Rahne wished him luck and hoped he found the bastard who had done that to an innocent little girl.

Despite the pressing concern of such violent hatred, Rahne found herself torn between the fear and the hormonal woes that had become commonplace. With the moon at the fullest point that evening, she was strained by her human fears and her wolfish  _need_. She had donned a sleeveless sweatshirt top to hide embarrassing evidence of arousal, which was almost as embarrassing as the persistent wetness between her legs. Being anywhere near Sam in this state was a bad idea, but she couldn't help gravitating toward him throughout the day. Her control was limited to keeping her distance—quite the feat, considering.

By nighttime, she had been unable to sit completely still for a single moment all day. Compounded with her fear, Rahne was a complete mess. She curled up in bed, having donned an overlarge shirt she had liberated (stolen) from Sam's closet one day when he was unaware. Falling asleep took far too long, but eventually she did.

_Sweat, skin on skin, darkness and shadows but just enough light to see by. His face, his beautiful, handsome face hovering over hers, the feel of his hand on her waist, on her thigh, as he pressed her body against the mattress, his weight solid. She ran her fingernails down his back, feeling skin and muscle and the faintest sheen of hairs under her fingertips, and the scent of their bodies a heady rush. The darkness was all around them, growing and growing and—she couldn't see his face anymore._

_She couldn't see anything. Her hands fell away from his body, and suddenly he was no longer on her, in her. She was alone, her arms and legs curled around her own body. The space was darker than night, enclosed. She felt the walls closing in on her._

_Suddenly, there was light. There were bars in front of her, silver bars. She was jailed. Her hand reached out, but the bars burned her skin. She turned around and she was in an alley. A faceless, formless mob with pitchforks and torches strode toward her. She turned and ran, heading directly into the moor. Trees whipped past her, she tripped over rocks and stumbled but scrambled, had to keep moving. Had to run, couldn't stop running, then she passed a tree and was in the school hallway. The lockers clanged open and shut as she turned in a circle._

_Sam was in front of her, lying on the ground. A knife protruded from his chest. She cried out and dropped beside him, gazing into lifeless eyes. Her heart was ripped out of her chest, she couldn't breathe—he was dead. He was… He… Sam. Her Sam. Her hands grasped his shoulders and shook, but he wasn't going to wake up._

_He'd never wake up. Tears fell down her cheeks, trickled onto his face, slipped to the floor. He didn't move. Her body curled, her shoulders heavy and her lungs struggling to draw breath_

_There was a smear of blood beside his head, on his fingers, and the letters "F O H" scribbled messily on linoleum._

_Her eyes focused on the letters. Then there was a sound behind her, a cruel, deep laugh. She turned around and a baseball bat swung at her face—_

The room was illuminated by the silver light of the moon as her eyes snapped open. A shimmering veil obscured anything that she might have seen, and she cradled her head in her hands as she began sobbing. That dream, that dream had been so real it was terrifying. Her recurring nightmare wasn't even as terrifying as this had been. Sam,  _her_  Sam (her mate)!

She needed—oh, how could she feel (need)  _that_  at a time like this? But it pressed in on her, spurred by the keen desire to know that she had been dreaming. It wasn't real. If she snuck to his room right now, she could prove it was a dream beyond a shadow of a doubt (prove that he was alive).

Her feet pressed against the carpet, propelling her toward the door (toward him). The quiet hall was dark, but the windows allowed moonlight in and corridor shone brightly. As if in a dream, she stumbled along down the hallway, intent on reaching his room. The dreamlike quality of her wandering caused a spike of fear to shoot through her heart and she broke into a stumbling gait the last few feet from his door. It couldn't be real (he wasn't  _dead_ ).

She couldn't let it be real.

Her hand twisted the knob, scrabbling for purchase until her fingers closed around the handle (until her paws hit it right). She slipped into his room, letting the door close itself behind her.

And there, there he lay. She could hear him breathing (caught his scent). The rise and fall of his bare chest as he lay, twisted slightly in the sheets, took her breath away (made her pant slightly). For a long moment, she simply breathed (stared). He was here. He was fine (he was hers).

He was alive.

_Sam was in front of her, lying on the ground. A knife protruded from his chest. She cried out and dropped beside him, gazing into lifeless eyes._

The images flashed before her eyes, sending her in a whimpering, stumbling haze toward his bed. Her knees hit the mattress hard as she tugged (pawed) at the blankets. She cuddled up beside him and his warmth (and scent) enveloped her.

Without warning, he reacted as if being attacked. Her arms were pinned by her head and one of his knees pressed firmly on her stomach (heat pooled in her body). He blinked sleepily down at her, his brain firing up. She couldn't really see his face (could only smell her mate). She struggled to bite back her tears, but a small whimpering sob broke through her control.

That seemed to wake him up immediately. He blinked at her and gasped, releasing his grip. "Rahne!" Hoarse from sleep, he swallowed as he sat up, dragging her body with him. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her as she buried her head against his chest. "Wha' are you doing here a'—" he twisted his body slightly "—two in the mornin'?"

She said nothing (didn't need words). Her body reacted instinctively to his close proximity, melting in his grip. Pulling her legs underneath her, she knelt between his and slipped her arms around his neck.

Her lips barely brushed his before he tore away. She felt her heart tearing within her again, her vision growing misty from unshed tears (from rejection).

Sam's face hovered in her line of sight, his rejection of her eager embrace painful.

Still bleary-eyed from sleep, he asked gently, "What's wrong?"

Not rejection, confusion. She felt relieved; she could explain. Her fingernails scraped gently against the sides of his neck (pulling him closer). "I need ye." Please. (Now).

"I'm right here." His hands were trying to force distance between their bodies, completely contradictory (what was he waiting for?).

She tightened her grip on his neck, nuzzling close to the warm skin. "Please, Sam, I need…" She could already feel her body's reaction to her desires, ones that had been present all day. Her frustration reaching a new peak, she hastily tugged open the buttons on her shirt with one hand as she pressed her lips to his throat (breathed in his scent).

Anything beyond holding her seemed to be too much for him. That was fine; she could take control of this encounter quite easily (give him pleasure as she took what she needed).

Until he physically lifted her off of him, untangling her legs from where they had wound around his waist. She whimpered, struggling to be closer to his warmth, his scent (him), tears welling up in her eyes as he held her shoulders in an unbreakable grip.

Sam stared straight into her eyes, a slightly wild look about his own. "Tell me what's going on."

Her answer was a whimper. Her breathing increased as he held her back from what she needed (wanted so much it was painful).

"Rahne, tell me. I can't help you if you don't."

Her struggles grew more desperate. She stared at him with wide, panicked eyes, not understanding why he was asking her these questions. Hadn't she told him? She'd told him (she knew she had). A keening whimper tore from her lips. "Ye, Sam, please. I need ye." Please, please…

The boy (man) in front of her seemed to finally understand what she meant. "Wait—the moon. Rahne, is this one of those instinct things?" Yes, yes, agree if that means she can get what she wants (needs). Her head bobbed up and down, but her eyes stayed locked on his.

He'd said he would do whatever he could to help her, and this would help her.

"I…" He bit his lip, seeming lost. "I can't do that to you. You'll regret it in the morning."

What? No. He was hers, (her mate) and nothing would make her regret sharing her body. "No, I will nae regret it. Ye are the only one I can go to. I need…" She pressed her hands to her head, weaving her fingers through her hair to try and hold herself back. Explain, and then try again (successfully, this time). "Needed it all day. Canna stop thinkin', needin'… I held back so many months, an' it gets harder each time, an' with the dream it's so hard, maybe if I, ye an' I, maybe it will be easier…" She cut off her rambling thoughts and let her wide-eyed, desperate gaze push him. "Please."

He seemed so torn (why, she didn't know). She ran one hand along his chest, unable to stop herself from touching him. Soon, a litany of whispered pleas was murmured against his skin, his ear, as she pulled herself closer to him. His strong grip had broken, and with a burst of joy she heard a low groan. A giving-in groan, as his arms were suddenly warm and snug around her. She thought she heard him mutter apologies before she pressed her lips over his.

The little sparks flew, dazing her as she tugged at his nightclothes in her eagerness. She felt the mattress underneath her, then a brief absence of his weight. Her eyes flew open, but she relaxed when she saw he was rooting through his nightstand. She pulled him back to her, muttering about the Pill and easing her hand underneath the waistband of his boxers to stop him from protesting.

 _That_  was entirely unthinking. She didn't know what to do once she'd touched him, only guessing that he liked it from the way his eyes rolled up and a deep, exciting moan rumbled in his chest. Her own shirt and panties were long gone, and the only barrier separating the two of them she tore away eagerly.

And after that, it was a confusing muddle of limbs, breaths and sensations.


	5. You Just Can't Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Desire" by Ryan Adams.

(A pseudo-relationship has its own challenges.)

Keeping secrets from your housemates can be a good thing. Who wants to know who stole the last cookie when the withheld knowledge could mean an explosive device in your next meal? And who could fault someone for keeping an embarrassing CD under their mattress to prevent blackmail? Privacy was (mostly) respected, but in a mansion full of teenagers it was always in danger of being infringed upon—whether purposefully or by accident.

And such a juicy secret was especially dangerous.

* * *

(An indecent proposal is difficult to word.)

_She was drifting._

_Floating._

_Swimming in air. The sun shone down on her, bright rays warming her cheek, her body. A gentle pressure over her back kept her from moving too quickly. But why would she want to? She was so comfortable, surrounded by soft light…_

Slowly, the dream melted away into a matching reality. Rahne sighed, turning her face closer to her pillow. She was so warm, wrapped in the comforting embrace of her sheets.

Warmer than normal.

A frown appeared on her face and she tilted her head away from her pillow. Yes, she could see light through her eyelids. But that was strange—her room faced west. She saw the sunset each evening. Why would she feel direct rays of sunrise on her face? And…

That was  _definitely_  an arm around her waist.

Her eyes snapped open. The sun shone over her face, a dawn that glimmered brightly. One of her hands clenched a creamy sheet at the sight of a red quilt twisted at the foot of the bed. Her eyes trailed up, the visual of her leg peeking out from under a sheet and draped over a waist. Over the rise of a (very nice) bare male chest, she caught sight of the far wall and a large, framed photograph of a Midwestern farm.

(Sam). Shit.

Her throat suddenly dry, she struggled to remember how she'd wound up here. Something must have snapped. She'd gone to bed in her own room. She knew that for sure. But there had been a dream… Snippets of it came flooding back into her head.

_Sweat, skin on skin, darkness and shadows… She couldn't see anything… She felt the walls closing in on her… There were bars in front of her, silver bars… She turned and ran, heading directly into the moor… She passed a tree and was in the school hallway…_

_Sam was in front of her, lying on the ground. A knife protruded from his chest. She cried out and dropped beside him, gazing into lifeless eyes…_

Oh, Lord. No wonder she'd done this.

Combined with her body's desires during the course of the day, the stress from the FOH attack had created a nightmare that sent her reeling. Half-awake and completely vulnerable to her wolfish instincts, she had obviously ended up going with what her body wanted the most. Her mind hadn't disagreed, because Sam was one of the few people she would most want to see after such a dream.

If it had been a month earlier, she might have been able to stick it out in her room. But the previous day had been the most difficult yet. Each month, it was harder and harder to resist. It was a miracle she'd resisted running to Sam's bed for as long as she had.

The body she lay on shifted.

Her breath slowed as she realized that he was no longer breathing deeply. He was awake. Her stomach twisted nervously. If only she could avoid the coming conversation—only a few more minutes, maybe then she would be more prepared.

"Rahne?" She briefly contemplated pretending that she was unconscious.

Only for a moment, though. Then she recalled how tired she was of pretense. How tired she was of trying to suppress her instincts, ignore her attraction to him, and treat him as just a friend. No, no more. She rashly decided that if he didn't want her in a relationship, maybe she'd have to settle for what she  _could_  get out of him. The thought scared her a little. Was she really going to ask for something like that? Would he be willing to…to what? What could she call it—"relieving tension"? Whatever it was, the fact remained that she'd have to ask for it to become reality, and she wasn't sure he would go for it. Plus, she had to get up the courage to even ask.

Propping her elbows underneath her, she lifted her head. Loose hair fell down in her eyes. She looked him square in the eye, unashamed although her pink cheeks displayed her embarrassment.

He stared back at her, the lazy droop of his eyelids and bleary gaze contrasting with his self-conscious smile. She could feel his hand move on her back just the slightest bit, rubbing her spine, and she flattened her palm on his chest. The faint imprint of teeth on his shoulder made her insides warm instantly; she firmly told herself to cut it out, as they had to talk about this (before proceeding to  _that_ ).

There was a short pause as they stared at one another. Neither of them seemed to have a clue what to say or do first.

Rahne bit her lip. "So." Could she…?

He raised an eyebrow. "So."

Her eyes fell to his neck. "I…" She had to say it—no. No, she couldn't. "Sorry," she spit out, frustrated with herself. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as he remained silent. His body had stiffened and she struggled to continue. "I had this dream, an' then it was a full moon an' I wasn' exactly in me right mind. I shouldna have come here the way I did an' taken advantage of ye."

"You didn't." His cheeks burned, but he met her eyes squarely. "I wasn't unwilling. We both… It takes two, you know?"

She stared.

It sounded almost like…

He shrugged, pushing himself up against the headboard. She adjusted her body with him, tugging the sheets around her chest as she eyed him in confusion (hope). "I don't have an excuse like you do. I'm the one who should've stopped us. You were sayin' some things last night, an' I—I gave in."

A brief flash of memory, of the darkness of night and her stumbling, unsteadily, into Sam's bed. The feel of his hands as he tried to hold her back, and the sound of his moan as he gave in to what she wanted.  _"Needed it all day. Canna stop thinkin', needin'… I held back so many months, an' it gets harder each time, an' with the dream it's so hard, maybe if I, ye an' I, maybe it will be easier…"_

Oh… she…

She pressed a hand to her mouth in embarrassment, closing her eyes as a brilliant flush spread over her cheeks. "I was beggin' ye," she moaned.  _Begging_ , like some cheap whore on a street corner. She'd come in here, half out of her mind with emotional overload (lust), and literally  _thrown_  herself at him.

She felt his arm slide around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. "Hey. I'm just…glad I could help." She stifled a laugh. He chuckled too. "Yeah, I know, but that don't change how I feel about it."

She didn't dare look up; the sincerity in his voice was too much. He'd always had a pure soul. She could feel, like a sixth (wolf) sense, how concerned he was about her. How much he wanted to fix this, even though he didn't have any more of a clue than she did. Most boys, uttering that sentence, would have an underlying context of "feel free to do it again" because they wanted their own pleasure. But Sam wasn't looking for that kind of satisfaction with her. As much as she hated it, a part of her hurt at the thought that he didn't want that from her.

If she asked, would he go for it? If she brought up the subject, would he be freaked out or interested? Well, his body certainly responded to hers (he was  _her_  mate, after all). Maybe he would…maybe  _they_  could…

"Rahne?"

She looked up. "Hmmm?"

"What you said last night…was that true?" At her blank expression, he added, "That you've been holding back for months and it's…difficult?"

She blushed furiously. But she wasn't stressed enough not to recognize her opening. Looking down, feeling horribly dirty for even skirting around the subject… "I… Yes. I told ye before, me body responds an' it's always worst during the moon. But I didna tell ye that it…it gets worse each moon that I go…without." Oddly, despite what she wanted to suggest, she couldn't stop the tomato-red flush on her cheeks. She shrugged. "I was dealin' with it, but after everythin' emotional yesterday, the timin' was just awful."

He nodded slowly, seeming to think over what she was telling him. "So...you're likely to get to that point again."

She flopped to her back, suddenly realizing just how right he was. Her hands unconsciously tugged the sheets close to her chest as she considered that with a twisting stomach. If he didn't accept her proposition, it was likely that several months down the line she'd find herself right back here again. "I…think so."

"Is there anything I can do?" His cheeks turned bright red as he realized what he had just asked.

She grinned in spite of herself. He was so  _Sam_. He was the type of person to ask out of genuine concern, the guy who wouldn't have an ulterior motive with this particular inquiry. If he had been one of "those boys", he'd have placed a hand on her hip, or leaned in as he asked. There would have been a sign in his eyes. Instead, he seemed frozen, embarrassed and likely worrying he'd offended her.

Rahne propped herself up on her elbow, twisting her body to look at him fully. She clutched the sheet to her chest with her other hand ( _say it_ ) and sucked in a breath. "Would ye…be willing to?"

His jaw dropped open.

She blathered on in face of his surprise. "I dinnae know who else I'd ask, even if I could think of proposin' the idea to anybody. The only other males in the mansion I'm close to are Ray and Jamie, and they're like me brothers—plus Jamie's too young. Never mind anyone outside of the Institute. An' you're a good man, Sam, I trust ye. I trust ye more than…than most anybody." (And just plain wanted him). "Ye can always stop it if ye think ye need to."

That was for his benefit. The words pained her (if he didn't want her anymore she…didn't know what she'd do) but a spark of inspiration had hit her as she babbled. She had to give him a possible out, or he'd certainly run from the idea before considering it.

Sam closed his eyes for a long minute. Her stomach turned in and over on itself a few times while she waited (stared at his lovely face). Finally, he looked at her again with the oddest, blankest expression she had ever seen. "Does this make us together, or somethin'?"

Somehow, she could tell that it was a deciding question: that her answer would be the difference between agreement and refusal. And she was also sure that the caution in his eyes was a sign of his fear—that they would be "together"? Her heart ached. She tried to let it roll off her shoulders as she shrugged. "No, of course not. I… I dinnae really need to be comin' to ye all the time, so dinnae worry about that. An' we're… we're best friends, right? This doesna have to affect our friendship."

She hated the pleading tone of her voice, the way it cracked as she begged. The thought of losing his friendship was painful, especially since that was the one real connection she had to him (her mate). To lose that would be to lose everything.

A part of her wondered if this was a good idea. If they really should be pursing this, or if it was an awful idea. She didn't know anyone who had ever asked this of another person before. Besides, their situation was unique. She didn't know of anyone else who was linked to someone the way she was to Sam. Maybe she shouldn't have done this.

He looked like he was thinking very hard, and his sharp gaze was making her worried. That he had yet to answer worried her all the more. She wished she knew what was going through his head. Finally, he sighed and his shoulders relaxed. As if he were giving in. "If you're sure this is what you want, I'm here for you," he said.

She stared at him, taking in the warm—but somehow worried—gaze and the way he held himself. Her stomach twisted a little. Was he giving in because she wanted this? Not because he was interested, but because he wanted to make her happy? As much as she wanted him she didn't want to force him. That would be worse than his disinterest. "Are ye sure, Sam?" she asked. "Ye dinnae have to if ye dinnae feel comfortable."

To her relief, he broke into a wide smile and reached for her, pulling her close in a reassuring embrace. "Rahne, I'm sure."

She rested her head on his chest and breathed out a sigh. Her lips curled into a smile.

* * *

(Keeping important secrets from best friends is hard.)

Rahne was forced to climb out her window and run to her own room that morning when Scott started waking up the boys. She and Sam were lucky they heard him coming down the hallway.

Quickly pulling her clothes back on, she slipped off the balcony with a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek and a whispered warning to be careful. She couldn't help smiling as she darted through the bushes; the sense of closeness between them had been reestablished.

Her lips curved down as she climbed back up to her own room. This morning they seemed fine, but what about in the brighter light of day? What about when they were around their friends and teammates—how would he treat her then? They may have agreed to keep it secret, not wanting their "arrangement" to be up for everyone's dissection, but what if trying to act like just friends around their teammates was too hard?

She'd asked him if they could remain friends. He had agreed. He wouldn't go back on that promise, even unintentionally. She hoped.

Rahne slipped out of her room and headed toward the shower. They were incredibly lucky Logan wasn't there. If he were, he'd have caught them for sure. His early-morning training sessions would have spelled doom for both of them.

But Scott, although almost obsessive about the training whenever Logan was gone, was a little more lenient. For instance, he woke the younger recruits at a later time—which is why she saw the sun rise before he started pounding on the boys' doors. The older team had training every day before theirs, but Logan liked to wake everyone up at once. Scott was nicer.

She showered quickly and raced back to her room as fast as she could, stubbornly trying to ignore the ache between her legs—not one of longing, but rather a muscle pain which made her wince uncomfortably. In the safety of her room, she slipped into her standard, plain black uniform and put her hair up.

A knock on the door prompted her to rush out. She almost ran over Ray as she stumbled out. He reached out to steady her. "Whoa!"

"Sorry," she said, pulling the door closed a bit too hard. The slam added to the din of the corridor. "Thought I was running late."

Ray shrugged. "You're not." His shrewd eyes looked her over, slightly narrowed. "Is everything…okay?"

It took everything she had not to react in a panic. Pretence was always difficult around Ray. She didn't like to keep things from him after having let him in to so much of her life. But  _this_ was completely different from anything else she had trusted him with.

Discovering that she was not like other girls in a sexual way had been a process; through the media, literature, and a conversation with her adoptive mother, Rahne had found that she thought about relationships differently than others. Then she looked up information on wolves and put the pieces together herself. She effectively kept the information on a need-to-know basis. The little she had shared with her teammates (pack) had been the tip of the iceberg. Only Ray knew most of it, and he didn't  _get_  it. He wouldn't understand what she and Sam were doing. It was hard enough to wrap his head around "life partners"—the addition of what amounted to "friends with benefits" was too much.

Even she was unsure, and she was in her own shoes. All she wanted was Sam. He didn't seem to want her, which meant she would settle for what she could get. The risks involved were very high; she was already far more attached to him than he was to her, through no fault of her own (just genetics). Their deal exempted either of them from full commitment to one another, which went entirely against her nature. And there was always the chance that he could stop it at any time.

"Hellooo… Are you awake in there?" Fingers snapped in front of her nose. She jumped.

Oops. "Eveythin's fine, Ray." She sighed at his expression. "Really, it is. I was just lost in me own head for a bit." He eyed her as if expecting something alien to burst out of her skull. Rolling her eyes, she nudged him and starting walking. "Come on, Sparky." She laughed as he grumbled. Part of the reason she loved that nickname was the frustration on Ray's face when he heard it.

They rounded the corner and her eyes immediately locked on Sam—and Jamie, Bobby, and Jubilee. Her heart thudded abnormally for a moment, the worry spiking through her. But the smile on Sam's face when he saw her was that same old grin she loved. His eyes locked on hers when she appeared and she slowed as she neared. She had eyes only for one person at the moment.

"Hey." One hand rested in his pocket, the other rubbing shyly at the back of his neck.

Rahne bit her lip as she struggled not to throw her arms around him. "Hey. How're ye this mornin', Sam?"

"Right fine." He laughed and reached over to Jamie. "Already have the kid raisin' hell."

Jamie laughed sheepishly, his cheeks reddening. Rahne put her hands on her hips. "What'd ye do now?"

Bobby's decidedly sour expression made more sense as she became the next open ear to a teenager's prank gone wrong, and the resulting consequences of such a rough start to the morning. She almost felt bad for Bobby…although the socks were an impressive addition to one of Jamie's older ideas.

The group migrated towards the dining hall, Rahne keeping step with Sam the whole way down. Then there was a perfectly normal breakfast, and a perfectly normal rush to get ready for school. The day sped by, and Rahne found herself enjoying it. Everything went…perfectly. There was no awkwardness. Sam didn't avoid her, and although they were carefully not as affectionate as usual, their behavior was still well within normal. It was almost a shame to drag herself into the privacy of her room to start her homework.

At least, until there was a knock on her door.

She glanced at her alarm clock, frowning. She'd been working for almost an hour, and she was almost done with a difficult math assignment. She really wanted it finished so she could move on to the much more enjoyable history one. "Can ye come back later?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard through the door.

It opened and closed with a controlled force that implied the person was close to slamming it.

She breathed through her nose, the scent reaching her—not that she needed it to know who would ignore her request. "Ray, I'm almost done with me math, just—"

His stomping feet were nowhere near as loud as they could be—she'd know—so she was prepared for him to grab her textbook. She sighed, already knowing it was pointless. He was either incredibly angry, or working himself up. Usually she or Sam could head off his rage, but he had to come to them or else nothing they said could calm him down. She could spare a few minutes from her homework for this. "All right, ye have me undivided attention."

Turning in her chair, she caught sight of his face and her throat closed up.

She'd never seen that expression before. Usually he came with anger flashing in his eyes, hands balled into fists, shaking. Ray had anger management issues, as everyone in the Institute was well aware. But this was a strangely calm Ray, one with a suspicious glint in his eyes that signaled latent anger could explode at any moment.

"Ray?" She frowned, trying to understand the strangely blank (wounded) expression on his face. "What's going on?"

He stood, arms crossed over his chest, fisted knuckles white. "How funny. I was about to ask you that."

She blinked. "I don't—"

"Spare me. What's going on with you two?"

His intensity floored her. She leaned back in her seat, trying to suppress the twisting in her stomach. "I'm one person, not two."

Those shiny, electric eyes narrowed. "You're not stupid, either."

With a sinking feeling in her chest, she pressed her lips together tightly. "Be clearer then."

"Sam."

There was a long pause as Rahne tried to come up with a response. Obviously, he had noticed that something was up, but what he had picked up on was beyond her. She thought they had covered their tracks admirably, acting as normal as possible that day. Ray knew them both very well; if he'd picked up on something, it didn't necessarily mean others had.

But Rahne wasn't about to confirm his suspicions. "What do ye mean?" At his incredulous look, she added, "I dinnae know what ye want me to say. We're friends again, if that's what ye mean. We talked."

"I already knew that. But that was yesterday, and today you two are acting weird again."

"What is wrong with ye? We're bein' normal!"

He began gesturing with sharp, wild movements as he spoke. "Exactly. You can't go straight back to the way you were after that fight, Rahne. Especially not with—with  _everything_."

Her hands clenched into fists. "Ye dinnae know anythin' about us—"

"No, I know the two of you. You're my best friends."

Her tone was frigid. "Ye know very little." He was crossing lines (too close to figuring it out).

"Enlighten me then." He leaned forward, eyes tracking her face and body language. She put every effort into holding still, as if furious (not scared). She couldn't give him any leash or he'd run with it. Their staring contest broke when he asked, "What have you two talked about?"

"Everythin'."

He scoffed. "Oh, really?"

"Yes!"

"Then everything would not be back to the way it used to be, now, would it?" She blinked. He rolled his eyes. "Sam is not the kind of person you seem to think he is, Rahne."

Her heart beat unevenly. All the things that could mean raced through her mind and she shoved them away immediately. Ray may know them both, but no way would he have let her get at all involved with Sam if his accusation implied something nefarious about their friend (her mate). But what could he mean? She knew her boys, all of them—she knew what they were like, the kinds of people each of them were. She knew what kind of person Sam was (right?). "What are ye saying?"

"That if you had told him everything, things between you two would be different. Not the same, but not in this limbo state, either."

Of course. She already knew that about Sam, that if she told him about the extent of her attachment to him the situation would not be pleasant. A brief surge of relief rushed through her, followed almost instantly by the return of irritation. "Ye dinnae know what ye are talkin' about."

"I know enough."

"Ye jus' think ye do. Get out." She flung her hand through the air, gesturing angrily at him to leave, and whipped her chair back around.

He completely ignored her, of course, but this time his voice was gentler. "Rahne, you have to talk to him."

"I have and that's all ye need to know." She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down. Rationally…she knew what he was doing. With a sigh she turned around again, looking up at her friend with as close to a neutral expression as she could manage. "Ray, I know ye mean to look out for both of us, but I kin assure ye, we've talked about everythin' we need to. We're actin' normal around others for their sake. We know where we stand with one another. We're workin' on us, behind closed doors." Behind closed doors, indeed.

He eyed her suspiciously. "You are?"

She looked him dead in the eye as she replied. "Yes."

"All right. Whatever." Shrugging, he turned toward her door to leave, pretending not to care. As if the whole thing had been casual, and he hadn't stormed into her room ready to punch something. She had a feeling it was Sam who would have borne the brunt of that aggression.

For some reason, it touched her. Ray was like an older brother, fiercely protective yet also sweetly caring. Biting her lip, she looked at the back of his head. "Ray." He paused, turned. "Thank ye. I know ye care, that it's why ye said somethin'."

A half-grin appeared on his face. "As long as you're telling me the truth, then I guess I have to butt out."

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

There was a gleam in his eye that said he was still suspicious. He really did know her too well. But he nodded in farewell instead of pressing it further. "All right, see you later."

"See you," she replied quietly, watching as the door shut behind him.

Then she propelled herself out of her chair and onto her bed, crushing a pillow to her face to muffle the sobs.

* * *

("Little pitchers have big ears.")

They fell into a pattern.

She'd come to him at night, when the moon was in the final stages of waxing and the first of waning. The tug was so faint that it practically didn't exist during the new moon, but the full moon held an incredible amount of power over her body. Sometimes she would sneak into his bed for a week of nights, sometimes they'd go a week without. Even proximity helped calm her frustrations.

Three moons later, she realized that she had begun to sneak to his room even when the moon was new. Her reason (excuse), whispered in his ear, was that pressure from her wolf-self was gaining strength during the new moon instead of fading. It was as if—in both sexual and platonic definition— sleeping with him calmed her instincts, made her less susceptible to their power. She was also becoming accustomed to a warm body beside hers when she slept, making her lonely bed hard to sleep in. Despite how very little she and Sam talked about it, she had said that much.

But only at night.

The cover of darkness kept their secret safe. No one cared to pay attention to doors opening on the balcony when the cooling nights made everyone else bundle up tightly. With the covers twisted around their bodies, the night air was the last thing on Rahne's mind as she ducked her head under the sheets. No one heard them, for he wasn't particularly vocal and, when the threat of a sharp howl threatened to escape her throat, she always found something to clamp her teeth on—be it pillow or skin. The bruises left by her teeth tended to remain on Sam's shoulder for several days.

She didn't know if he minded or not. They never spoke of anything in the daylight, not willing to risk it. That wasn't their only unspoken rule. Each was careful only to touch the other when completely necessary, and they made a conscious effort to hang out with both Jamie and Ray. Even the other students at the mansion were receiving a lot of their time, and as consequence they hung out together less and less during the day. It only made her all the more eager to spend her nights with him.

Maybe that was why he didn't mention it when she began showing up more and more just to sleep beside him. He didn't see her that much during the day anymore, when they used to be near inseparable at times. Sam was the friend Rahne could sit quietly with for hours at a time in the library, working on homework or reading for pleasure—then run around outside for hours more, talking a mile a minute. By putting in effort not to make their teammates suspicious, they no longer hung out in silence very much. Their arrangement was also a way for them to spend quiet time together.

Sometimes, though, they weren't so quiet.

It was December. He was leaving to spend Christmas with his family, instead of staying at the Institute for the entire winter break. Although he'd be back for New Year's Eve, this was still their last night together for a little over two weeks. She'd be staying here, her adoptive mother coming in a few days to visit the Professor and stay with Rahne until after school resumed. There would be no more of their night encounters until then.

The thought of going so long without had made them slightly more…enthusiastic. Usually Sam was pretty quiet, and Rahne was the one struggling not to throw back her head and howl. But there were times when he had to muffle his own cries just like she did.

She threw her head back, gritting her teeth against the animal sound threatening to break out. Her head slammed against the door, which was already shaking slightly in the frame. Her nails dug into Sam's back—likely drawing blood—and his teeth clamped on her shoulder. She had to bite her own hand to hold in a howl of pleasure as a sharp pleasure tore through her.

Quieted, now, Sam quickly kissed her shoulder and she ran an apologetic hand over his back, where she could feel small inciscions she'd caused. Kissing his forehead in reassurance, she shot him a grin as she began sliding her legs down—only to freeze.

A soft, hesitant knock vibrated against her back.

Their eyes widened.

"Sam?"

Rahne's cheeks flushed instantly.  _Jamie._ Her immediate instinct, to jump away from the door, didn't have the desired effect. Sam lost his balance as she shoved herself at him, taking her down as he stumbled and fell. He clapped a hand over her mouth when she let out a short squeak. Trying to resituate herself and get her bearings, she pulled away slightly and he helped her up. She was almost on all fours when, again, they froze.

Through her embarrassment, she heard the doorknob rattle experimentally. One of Sam's long legs shoved hers into the carpet, giving her a slight rug burn and knocking her precarious balance away. But he managed to stop the door from opening by holding it with his foot.

"Sam? Are you okay?"

Rahne grit her teeth. She loved the kid, but he was ruining her afterglow (goodbye).

Her eyes flickered back to Sam's face. He coughed nervously, obviously trying to come up with an explanation. "'M fine, Jamie. Not right awake yet, jus' tryin' to figure the lock out. Too early. What're you doin' up?"

"Oh, I had to use the bathroom. Um…do you need help?"

"Naw, 'm all right, Jamie. 'M more awake now an' can get the lock. Go back to sleep."

"Okay." Rahne held her breath for a long minute, staring at the door. At Sam's foot, pressed desperately against the door. No more sound came through, and she let her breath out gently, turning her head back to her lover. He looked at her. They stared at one another for a long moment before dissolving into muffled laughter.

She struggled to keep quiet, giggling against his neck as she enjoyed the weight of his arms around her.

When they eventually quieted and had re-situated themselves on his bed, Rahne rubbed the sheets between her fingers as she thought about their imminent separation. It would be a difficult adjustment for her; her body had become accustomed to the presence of her Sam (mate). But somehow she would have to handle it. And really, it may be for the best. They were becoming a little too lax in their secrecy, with so few close encounters so far.

His fingers pulled her hair aside, and his lips pressed against the back of her neck. "What're you thinking about?" he whispered.

She grinned in spite of herself. "That it's a good thing Logan isna here."

Overprotective of all his charges, particularly the female ones, Logan would have torn them a new one if he had any idea. But the Friends of Humanity had remained active in their area, keeping everyone on edge. At the moment, the only connection the FOH had to the mutant murders—now three in number, and highly publicized—were monthly protests. Logan was away from the Institute a lot, digging to find a tie between the FOH and the incidents. Needless to say, one of the only reasons Rahne and Sam were getting away with their illicit activities right in the mansion was because Logan wasn't there to check up on them the nights he was gone.

She felt Sam's lips turn up as he continued to press kisses down the back of her neck. "A very good thing," he murmured into her skin. She allowed him to nudge her, rolling to her stomach as he continued to kiss his way down her spine. "He'd kill us for this."

"No, he'd just kill ye," she whispered, sucking in a breath as his hands brushed her sides.

His low chuckle made her squirm. "Right, 'cause I'm taking advantage of you." His breath caressed the skin of her lower back, and she pressed her forehead into the pillow.

She shuddered as one of his hands slipped around her stomach, then lower. "There," she gasped at his touch. He continued, leisurely, at her direction. Her eyes opened and she stared forlornly at the balcony, her thoughts still not entirely in the room. "How long are ye to be gone?"

"Only until the twenty-ninth." His fingers shifted and her mind came back to the room with a spike of pleasure. Her back arched and she stifled a cry, hips moving on their own. She moaned as he stopped. Then her heart picked up pace as his hands fell to her hips, gently nudging her up, and he leaned over her body. She felt his warmth against her back, his hands ghosting along her sides. His mouth pressed a wet kiss under her ear and he whispered, "Going to think about me?" His hand had drifted up her body, brushing another sensitive part of her anatomy with a gentle pressure.

A shiver raced up her spine as she pressed back against him, knees trembling a little. The wolf side of her really liked this (always did). "Every night." His hands flexed against her skin, and she bit her lip as she felt his reaction.

He moved, and she moved with him. Her back arched and all thoughts of the future were swept away by the present.


	6. The Doubt That Fills My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Collide" by Howie Day.

(And now, for something a little different.)

He was a teenage boy, and had imagined plenty of things. Just never quite like this.

No, he certainly wasn't pure of mind. The thought was laughable. His dreams were plenty graphic (her sun-tanned, soft and smooth skin, the arch of her back guided by his calloused hand, their breath harsh in ears and lungs). It was the same girl (her teeth sinking into his shoulder, his hands brushing smooth soft skin, the sound she made as she pulled him deeper, a groan pulled from him and mingling with her name). He had imagined more than the physical, though.

Yes, his dreams were focused on that the most. But he also never pictured himself staying awake at nights and skirting the subject of their encounters during the day. He had always thought that a relationship would go hand in hand with these activities. Friends with benefits (although he hated the phrase): lovers only when no one could see them, when they were alone.

This was unknown territory, indeed.

* * *

(Their first time was a drunken mistake.)

He went to the bathroom in an attempt to escape teasing.

Sam never intended to let anyone know he felt more than platonic towards one of his teammates. Damn Ray for being observant. The teasing jabs used to be subtle enough that they went over the heads of their fellow teammates. Unfortunately, "used to be" was the key phrase there.

Damn Ray.

For a guy who claimed to keep himself out of any kind of drama, Ray certainly seemed to want his two best friends to get together. Sam had to wonder how the guy who was practically raised on the streets could be so absurdly romantic. (Ray's answer: "I'm sick of your moon-eyes. Be a man and do something about it.")

As a presence of utter neutrality—except for when it came to Roberto—Ray absolutely refused to say whether Rahne felt the same way. Part of his whole refusal to be involved in drama. Of course, she might not have confided in Ray, but Sam hadn't bared his soul to his spiky-haired friend either. Ray just  _knew_  these things.

Without confirmation, Sam was hesitant to act. He could quite easily ruin his friendship with Rahne if he acted upon his feelings or mentioned them to her. He didn't want to lose her. She was one of the most important people in his life, right up there with his family.

She was also younger. It wasn't a big gap, only a grade level. But he was a pretty rational guy, and in high school a single year can be a big difference. He wasn't stupid enough to think either of them would be the same in a year. They were both young, just teens. Not kids and not adults: stuck in the in-between.

Their mutant abilities seemed to open a path for them to be more mentally mature than the average teenager, but some things were universal. So, sure, he was insecure. He wasn't sure what he wanted out of life. He didn't really know himself, his goals, or his dreams anymore. But, conversely, he was also gaining confidence as his control over his mutant abilities grew, and much more aware of the world around him than most teenagers seemed. Facing intense prejudice from what seemed like the entire world caused one to see things differently.

And that was why losing Rahne—or any of his friends—was simply not an option. Enough people hated them already, why would he let any more?

This had earned him a reputation as "the nice guy". The way he saw it, being the best person he could be to everyone was the only way to start getting people to see that he wasn't some kind of monster.

But sometimes the "nice guy" just wanted to punch his friends.

He let himself into the bathroom and kicked the door closed. Leaning over the sink, he ran some water from the faucet and used one hand to splash some on his face. He was vaguely aware, in a slight alcohol haze, of muttering under his breath. It relieved some of the frustration he felt towards Bobby and his perpetual teasing. And in front of every one of their teammates! He was so frustrated with the way they seemed to think it was fine to tease him, when he was sure that Rahne didn't like him. At least, pretty sure. He'd yet to see any evidence to the contrary.

Sighing, he turned around. And stared.

Rahne looked up at him, sitting on the floor as she grasped the edge of the tub. Her skirt—that ridiculously short scrap of cloth that had been giving him trouble all night—was bunched up her thighs. She was barefoot and staring up at him with wide eyes. Upon questioning, she wordlessly held up the doorknob as explanation in itself.

He would like to have blamed the doorknob for it. If they hadn't been locked in the bathroom, Sam was reasonably sure that nothing would have happened.

While he was apologizing for getting them both trapped, he realized that Rahne's eyes were slightly glazed, and she wobbled slightly as she rose to her feet. She had definitely been drinking—so, okay, she was totally going to do something that normal Rahne wouldn't do. Which should have been a red flag to him, but he wasn't fully sober himself at the time. Regardless, he'd been aware enough to notice a gleam in her eye, a twist in her expression, which made him feel… _hunted_.

He kind of lost control when she kissed him. In his defense, he wasn't expecting it. And he was a teenage boy. The girl he really, really liked was pretty much throwing herself on him while he wasn't capable of thinking clearly; what was he supposed to do? He pulled away once, knowing he shouldn't be doing this with her when neither of them were fully in control, but all she did was shove him to the ground and straddle him.

After that, he sort of let his hormones take over.

It wasn't one of his prouder moments, which he realized even while still slightly buzzed and handing Rahne her clothes. And then she mumbled something with a loopy grin and passed out in his arms, which made him feel even worse. His head was throbbing by the time Jubilee opened the door because she needed the bathroom. Sam wasn't sure if she was suspicious, but if she was she didn't seem to care after stumbling over to the toilet and throwing up.

The party was disintegrating and the Institute kids were starting to make their way home. They had a ways to walk, being car-less and not stupid enough to get behind the wheel even if they did have one. Sam ended up carrying Rahne with Ray's help, ignoring his friend's little digs. He was  _definitely_  not in the mood to deal with it.

And the alcohol made it easier to just fall asleep once he finally reached his own bed, preventing him from thinking about it in-depth that night.

* * *

(Resolving the issue should have gone differently.)

Logan's torture for the morning after was cruel—making Jean to move them all down to the Danger Room while they slept was just the 'unusual' part of the punishment—but not unexpected. At least they were able to recuperate more in the afternoon. Although once his head stopped pounding and he could think clearly again, Sam knew that he had stuff to do.

His first priority was to eliminate any potential awkwardness between himself and Rahne. She was one of his closest friends; he couldn't imagine his life without her. At the same time, the undeniable attraction that he felt towards her wasn't going to go away. Especially not now, after what had happened at the party. He just wasn't that type of guy.

Sam wasn't a virgin before that night. His first time had been with his first girlfriend back home, and he willingly acknowledged how young he'd been, what a mistake it was; she'd wanted him to change his mind about leaving for the Institute, he wasn't about to do that when his secret abilities were still so new and frightening. Plus they'd been growing apart, since he kept his powers secret from her. It was just a mess. He'd had a few girlfriends here, went all the way with one, but ultimately the big mutant revelation to the world-at-large had put an end to anything for a long while.

He didn't know much about Rahne's own experiences, beyond what she had shared about her wolfish nature. On that hand, he was worried about how their encounter would affect her, and thus their friendship. No, relationship—because try as he might, he couldn't see himself trying to go back to being "just friends" with her. If she seemed open to the idea, he'd definitely make the effort to…to what? Take her out on a date?

The thought made him wince. Growing up, his mother had pounded into his skull that he always had to respect women. Which he made an effort to do, but his value system was telling him he was a screw-up for having sex with Rahne before they had even gone out on a date. It was all backwards. He didn't like that—but that was his own damn fault, wasn't it? He should have controlled himself.

So, yes. He'd ask her out, see if she was willing to give a real relationship a spin. He owed her at least that much. And it wasn't a chore or something he was doing out of guilt. Maybe it wasn't the most traditional way of going about it, but Sam wasn't going to deny that he liked Rahne. A lot.

Except that when he came to her room, she seemed a bit off and he figured he'd better start off with explaining himself. He was sitting beside her and feeling like a right jerk for—what he felt like was—taking advantage of her, all he got out was, "Aw, look, Rahne, I… Um, I know it's not much of an excuse, but—"

Then she was smiling at him and going, "Ach, Sam! We kin skip the awkward mornin'-after talk! Trust me, I was not entirely myself las' night either."

There was something in her tone that caught him off-guard. "Oh. Uh, yeah. I know. It, well, it's all kinda foggy, an'—"

And again, she stopped him before he could bring the subject around.

"Ye an' I, we were a bit more than under the influence. I know." She patted his hand, letting it rest on top of his. "Ye dinnae have tah worry about me, Sam. We… we good? Friends?"

It was there that he caught on to the oddly desperate tone in her voice. He scanned her face, really taking in her expression: the pink cheeks, the strained smile, the slightly too-bright eyes. She wanted him to stop pressing the subject. He had a sinking feeling it was because she didn't want him to try and make anything more of the previous night.

That…kind of hurt. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, because he knew that Rahne wasn't the type of girl to have a one-night stand. So, what—

And then it hit him. Her desperate emphasis on their friendship made him realize it was the root of the problem. It wouldn't have occurred to him if he was unaware of her lonely past, her pack-animal nature. She was always afraid of losing what was important to her—her newfound pack, her family. Him, as so close a friend. He couldn't bring himself to push her past her comfort zone, no matter how badly they stepped out of it the previous night. If this was what she wanted, then the least he could do was give it to her.

He  _did_  owe her that.

"Yeah. Of course, Rahne. You're… You're way too important for me to let this mess up our friendship." And she was. She was one of the most important people in his life, and he'd do anything for her.

Rahne threw him for another loop when she gave him a soft kiss that felt like "goodbye". Later, he'd berate himself for being stupid—but when she started to pull away, he leaned forward without thinking, pressing her back as he allowed himself to kiss her deeply and with feeling. For a moment, he lost himself.

Then he realized what he was doing and backed off. He regretted that he couldn't push the issue, couldn't just ask her if she was interested. There was no way he could do that to her, not when she had made her worries so clear to him—both right then, and beforehand in previous, private conversations. She was too afraid to lose any of her bonds with people for him to just demand that she change one. He could see it in her eyes when, in a soft, begging voice, she asked, "Friends?"

He swallowed hard as he nodded, allowing her to take charge. "Friends."

* * *

(In between, there were blurred lines.)

"Oh my gosh, it's them."

"Mutie freaks…"

"…doing here, we see them enough at school."

Sam tried to pretend he didn't hear a word as they passed other shoppers. He kept an eye on Ray, who seemed about ready to throw a punch at somebody, but he was willing to bet that had more to do with Roberto being so close to him than anything else. He tapped Bobby on the shoulder and jerked his head to the pair caught up in glaring at one another while trying to pretend that they weren't. Even Ray and Roberto didn't want to break the united front that was unanimously declared a necessity in the face of anti-mutant outsiders, but sometimes their mutual animosity would get in the way.

Bobby rolled his eyes and slid over to the pair, casually throwing his arms over both of their shoulders and forcing them apart. Sam turned his gaze back on the rest of the team, keeping an eye on the rest of the New Mutants.

He tended to fall into the role of 'herding dog' whenever they went out together. Being the oldest sibling in a family as large as his just made him naturally keep track of everyone; it was also a habit that made him fall automatically into a position as second-in-command, which was sometimes intimidating and other times, irritating. But he dealt with it, because he wouldn't have been able to stop himself even if he tried.

Ms. Munroe was leading them around the mall, since Mr. McCoy had an experiment he wanted to try, Professor X said he would be heading into the City for reasons of his own, and Logan had threatened the Institute as a whole if he was going to be "roped into babysitting a bunch of kids in that hell-hole". Logan's reaction was no surprise. Everyone knew that the last time he took the main team shopping, there had been an Incident at the food court that no one would ever talk about.

All students could control their own spending money, but necessities for school were part of a strictly-controlled budget that only the adults could access. It was part of the living-at-a-"prep school" thing, so even though many of the students were over eighteen, they still had to go shopping in a group for this kind of stuff. The main team had gone earlier that week.

But it looked like the mall hadn't become any friendlier since then.

Sam tried not to scowl as Jubilee jumped out of the way of a woman carrying a small bag and glaring at all of them. Amara patted her on the arm and slung the other around Jamie, who was sandwiched between her and Ms. Munroe—to try and keep a buffer, in case someone bumped him. Ray was walking beside Tabitha, having torn himself away from Bobby and Roberto for everyone's sake. And Rahne was right next to him.

As unhappy as he felt about the direction their relationship had gone, he was content enough to be close to her. If that was all she was willing to give, then he would simply have to learn to be happy with it. He couldn't bring himself to place her in the uncomfortable position of changing their relationship, not when he knew how fragile relationships could feel to her sometimes.

All the same…he wanted to be able to wrap an arm around her waist right now. Walk around in public with her hand in his. Kiss her on the cheek, or on the lips even. Show he cared about her, not as a platonic friend but as a person who also meant something to her.

His only hope to reach that front would be taking his time, and going slow. She was skittish—any time something happened to confirm to him that she didn't think so platonically of him, either someone would interrupt or she would startle. Like at the pool, when he was sure she would kiss him and Jamie broke their stalemate. And during the survival exercise, there were moments before Jubilee found them that he could see her leaning in, but then look away and pull in. Her arms were crossed over her chest the majority of the time they were hiding from the rain in that enclosed space together, and he knew her well enough to sense the jealousy that came roaring when Jubilee joined them.

Her jealousy was the only indicator that his theory could be true, but it wasn't enough. For one thing, there was the chance that he was completely off the mark and she really wasn't interested in him as anything more than a friend. He could be imagining everything. And on the other hand, there was still the fact—set in stone, solid as steel—that he was sure pushing her would be the surest way to send her running the fastest, frighten her the most.

No, if anything were to happen, it would have to be on her terms.

Still. Walking next to her now, in the mall, was more difficult than he thought it would be.

She was laughing at Amara and Jubilee's half-hearted antics, trying to keep her own mood up. All of them were trying to ignore the stares and whispers, pretending they didn't notice other shoppers side-stepping them. For a moment, she glanced up at him from under loose wisps of reddish-brown hair, and he forced his hand to stay at his side as he returned her smile.

They reached the food court and Ms. Munroe looked over the group, purse in hand. "Everyone, please be on your best behavior." The reminder was more of a moral boost than a warning.

They left their bags with her at a table and took a ten-dollar bill each. Amara and Jubilee split off to a healthy but popular pita place, while Tabitha, Roberto and Bobby made a beeline for pizza. The remaining four moved in the opposite direction together. Ray and Rahne stopped at the burger joint, Rahne handing Sam her money and telling him her order, and he and Jamie continued on to the shawarma place.

The novelty of Middle Eastern food took Sam by surprise the first time he tasted it. Everything that was different from old country-style cooking had been a surprise to him, and he had loved the new culinary experiences. When this place opened in the mall, he had made a point of dragging his three closest friends that weekend. Rahne and Jamie had enjoyed it; Ray preferred greasier American foods. But none of them wanted to be alone here, hence splitting into pairs.

For them, it was common sense—like not wandering into a dark alley at night. (But sometimes, not even their caution was enough.)

Waiting for their order, Sam stood with his back to a wall. This allowed him to keep an eye on everyone else across the food court. Ms. Munroe relaxed in a chair, Amara and Jubilee already chatting with her and eating. Tabitha was balancing her tray on her head while Bobby and Roberto acted as her bodyguards, carrying their own meals in a more traditional manner. And two counters over, Rahne and Ray waited for their own meals. Jamie stood next to him, absently chattering while Sam listened patiently.

It was when Jamie moved down two yards to pick their order off the counter, and Sam stepped away from the wall with his attention focused solely on the younger kid, that it happened. His attention was split, focused on Jamie and on the people nearest to him, and he failed to respond to that sense in the back of his mind that someone was too close to him.

He realized that he should have been paying attention when someone jabbed their elbow into his side.

Gasping against the sudden pain, he tried to turn and face the person but stumbled into someone else as he moved—a sandy-haired, square-jawed man, who spat, "Watch where you're going, mutie."

The man was in his early twenties, and fingering a silver chain around his neck as he spoke. He was just a little shorter than Sam, but broad-shouldered and muscled. His companion was lankier, about the same age as Chain and an inch taller than Sam. His eyes were a lot colder than his companion's. That was just as bad, if not worse, than the obvious anger in Chain's expression. The second guy was playing with a thick, heavy ring on his hand, twisting it around as if to protect the stone from a punch— Oh.  _Shit_.

He breathed deep and steeled himself. There was little point in standing up for himself, because these guys looked eager for a fight. And he probably couldn't stop them once something started, but they seemed to think he was alone. If he could make sure Jamie made it past them, the kid could go back to the others for help.

It took everything he had to straighten up and not wince. There would surely be a bruise later. "My mistake."

He turned around immediately. Jamie was frozen a few feet away, but at Sam's expression and sharp gesture he started moving again. Sam moved to keep himself between Jamie and the two guys, but as he did one of them grabbed his elbow. "What're you doing, freak?"

Sam looked directly at Chain as he tugged his arm away, hard. "I'm not lookin' for trouble."

"Too bad," Ring sneered, stepping closer to use his height to as little advantage as he could. "Trouble's found you."

"Then I'll just have tah disappoint. Have a nice day." With that, he turned and started moving as fast as he could, shocking the two men into letting him get some distance. He saw that Jamie had made it out into open space, but waited for him near the trash cans. The kid was shaking, nervous, and his eyes widened as Sam stepped into the middle area between the counters and lines, and the seating that was in the middle of the food court.

That was a warning he didn't necessarily need; he could sense the two had followed, and a hand on his shoulder alerted him to the fact that he was right. So when Ring pulled him around hard, he was prepared and didn't trip—thus inadvertently activating his powers. He was also prepared for the fist flying at his face, and blocked it with his forearm.

Foolishly, he hadn't anticipated them fighting unfairly.

The air was knocked out of him and he fell to one knee, trying to pull air into his shocked lungs. Chain got him right in the chest. Behind him, he heard Jamie shout his name, a sudden furor in the surrounding crowd.

He couldn't think much beyond breathing for a second, and that was the only reason he couldn't stop the foot from sinking into his stomach. The pain was blinding enough that, when he planted his hands on the ground and tried to get up, he collapsed when another kick came to his back. And yet another to his stomach, from the other side, at the same time.

Cheaters…

As he struggled to catch his breath, he could hear loud voices blurring together—things like "what are they doing?" and "he's a mutant"—

Then it was silence, except for a familiar snarl. He lifted his head, almost too afraid to look up and release his protective curl. But the blows had stopped, even though he felt a strangely-formed pressure on his back. And when he opened his eyes, he saw why.

Rahne was crouching protectively over him, and he realized that it was her clawed hand that he felt. She was in her half-state—furry skin, elongated limbs, fangs and wolf-eyes. Her ferocious growls had yet to cease, and her snarling expression said she wanted nothing more than to rip out his attackers' throats. The two he had nicknamed Chain and Ring were probably still far too close for her wolf-side's comfort.

He still struggled to breathe, but moved anyway. Her arm dropped from his back as he did, but only so that she could shift to block him from their view. He glanced up to see that Chain and Ring were obviously torn between hatred and startled fear. They hadn't run off yet, but they were keeping a fair distance back from Rahne.

The food court itself was dead silent, too many eyes on them. He could understand the fear of nearby gawkers, because Rahne did look like a snarling beast.

Gently, mindful of what he knew about her when she was this angry, he slipped a hand over her shoulder. "I'm fine," he told her, wincing at the strain in his own voice. The sound she was making faded as she heard his voice, and he repeated himself. "I'm all righ'. It's okay." Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet and tugged at her shoulder.

She let him nudge her up, out of her crouch. Under his fingers, the fur slicked back into skin and her legs straightened normally, bones cracking as they changed back. Leaning over slightly, he glimpsed her face—the same expression had transferred over to her un-morphed face. "Let it go," he said, and his voice seemed to echo in the court, in all its winded strain. She stiffened slightly, but her eyes remained on Chain and Ring. "Let it go," he repeated, still fighting to settle his breath. "It's not worth it."

And it wouldn't be. He knew what Rahne wanted to do to these outsiders who had hurt one of  _her pack_. She wanted to rip out their throats. It was an instinct that she had to keep in check. It was the one she feared the most, and the one which was most dangerous: this desire to kill someone who hurt one of  _hers_. In the team discussions about their powers and the dangers that came with them, she made sure everyone knew that her instincts could be harmful.

Right now, it was his main concern. His wounds would heal. Rahne killing strangers in the mall would not result in anything good.

Finally, Rahne tore her eyes away from Chain and Ring and her eyes went from murderous to concerned. "Do ye need help to walk?" she asked, quietly.

He shook his head as he tested his stomach, gingerly. From the corner of his eye, he registered Ms. Munroe sweeping in front of them. And to the side, Ray was there, hand clenched around his upper arm. He seemed torn between shock and anger. "You sure?" he asked, following up Rahne's question.

"Yeah, I'll—"

"Mutie freaks! You'll get what's coming to you someday!"

Sam jerked his head up, anticipating a mob but not being surprised by the sight of Chain and Ring shoving their way out of the food court. He watched their backs as they disappeared around the corner, leaving a faint buzz to start back up in the immediate vicinity. He was, however, surprised by the sympathetic expressions quite a few people threw his way. The shock of seeing people actually not in favor of mutant attacks was somewhat subdued by their subsequent fear when they glanced at Rahne.

Ms. Munroe turned around, shaking her head. He hadn't heard her say anything, so he figured the two jerks had run for it before she could. "Are you all right, Sam?" she asked. Sighing, he repeated that he would be fine for a third time. Her lips curled upward in sympathy, and she added, "Rahne, are you fine as well?" Rahne's cheeks darkened to pink and she nodded shyly, refusing to look up. Ms. Munroe laid a hand on her shoulder and leaned in. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm proud of your control." She bit her lip. "But perhaps we'd best leave now."

"Good idea," Sam said. He grabbed Rahne's hand and tugged her close to him, slipping his arm around her shoulder. She looked up at him and he smiled. "I may need a little help walkin'," he admitted. His body was aching where he'd been kicked.

She rolled her eyes but acted as a support while their teammates gathered around, bags of purchased items and food in hand. They made it out of the mall in a group, Ms. Munroe bringing up the rear.

On the way out, in a group of nervously chattering teens that he called friends, Sam leaned in closer to Rahne. "Thanks."

She glanced up at him, a hesitant smile gracing her lips. "Ye dinnae have to thank me. You're mine—my teammate," she said, stumbling a little over the last part. Her cheeks darkened, but he just smiled.

"I know." Even if he wished that she meant something else entirely. "You protect your pack." She looked down to the concrete, and he thought that it had to do with her insecurities. "Don' be ashamed of that part of yourself, Rahne. It means a lot tah me that you have my back." He waited for her to say something, hoping that he hadn't accidentally pushed the line. Wondering if she caught the deeper meaning to his words.

Finally, she glanced up at him and there was nothing in her eyes that indicated otherwise. "I know ye have mine, too."

And if only he could read into that.

* * *

(At the fast-food counter with Ray, she turned around when she sensed one of her pack in danger. She felt a disturbance in the air, in the people, to her left. She looked through the milling people in time to see a non-pack human burying his fist in  _her_  mate's stomach. At first she was shocked and then a burst of  _how dare they_  came, when those feet were going to hit him—he was on the  _ground_  he couldn't stop them—two against one and  _her_  mate  _alone_ —

She shoved humans out of her way as she ran, left her pack mate behind as she growled, limbs stretching out to meet the ground, all four paws to push her faster. She came to a stop over him, crouching, back as a shield. Her snout twisted to a snarl as she glared at those humans who dared attack  _her_  mate, one clawed paw on his back to reassure him of her presence, one on the floor so she could leap if they moved any closer—

They weren't coming closer, but it took  _her_  mate's reassurance before she could begin to calm. And even then, the  _rage_  simmered until she could secure it within her again.  _Her_  mate would be fine.

She wanted to howl when he reminded her that he didn't see it her way. He was her pack, yes, but in her mind he would always be more than that.

If only he thought so, too.)

* * *

(Their awkward dance had to end sometime.)

If he had known the movie night would have resulted in this fight, he would have boycotted the thing all together.

Sam sighed and lifted his arm over his eyes. The room was empty and it was a great spot to come and think without being continuously interrupted. But he still didn't understand. He thought that he and Rahne had been getting along great, that she was even considering a possibility that he was sure she had avoided so far—until. Well. Obviously not.

" _Jus' leave me alone."_

Logan's interruption had not been at the most opportune moment if he was going to push it, but he had already decided not to. And Sam couldn't have stopped her from running. The fact that she reacted so strongly to Logan's appearance spoke greatly of her distress. He figured the best thing he could do for Rahne was to just let her get out of there as fast as she could. She was already so against the idea of anything other than friendship—their near-miss had obviously been too close.

" _Yes. Ye are botherin' me. Go away."_

But her anger had him completely thrown. He hadn't done anything! He'd even played the usual 'pretend it never happened' bit. What had gone wrong? He couldn't figure it out and it was eating away at him, and their friendship. She wouldn't even be in the same room as him without glaring. The only place she didn't react was at school, but even there she avoided being near him like the plague.

" _I said, ye are botherin' me. Need I be clearer?"_

He had no idea what to do. And it didn't help that everyone in the Institute kept asking him what happened, because he couldn't give them an answer, which led to people thinking he was hiding something. And that, in turn, only made him feel worse. As if he should know—which he felt that he should, if only he could figure out what he had done so wrong. Wasn't he doing what she wanted? But no one would get off his back, especially—

"All right, Guthrie. Fess up."

Pressing his hands to his face, Sam slowly sat up and looked over the edge of the couch. He knew someone had come in a while ago, but he thought it had just been Rogue, who usually liked to read in this room. Apparently, Ray wanted to watch him stew for a while before starting his inquisition.

Ray seemed to have made it his mission to figure out what had happened. The problem was that Sam never even told Ray that he and Rahne had sex at that party near the beginning of the summer, which was something that he normally would have told his best male friend. Keeping that secret had put a strain on their friendship, and this situation made it even worse. Ray was frustrated, and he was stubborn as a bull when  _calm_. He asked at least three times about the movie night, and each time left angrily when Sam refused to talk any more beyond that.

Sam had to admit that it would be nice to talk to someone about this. Get it out there. Ray wasn't exactly the kind of guy who was good at finding solutions, but they were good friends. Even though Ray seemed to think that he had done something to Rahne, Sam had a feeling that he might have some insight. But getting there meant getting past the anger…

Sam let his head fall into his hands and closed his eyes. "What am I supposed to tell you?"

Their argument was tense. Sam didn't like being accused that way, and Ray seemed to have some kind of pathological need to push people into anger in order to draw out the truth. It worked, though and, Sam actually felt like being honest when Ray said, "You've been off for months. I'm not one for touchy-feely girl crap, but man, you need to tell someone what's up."

The problem was that he thought Rahne wanted to keep it all secret, from everyone. And he wasn't about to betray that and tell their secret. "I can't."

Ray threw his hands up in the air again. "You mean you fucking won't."

"I  _mean_  I—" Sam snorted. "I mean I can't, Ray." He couldn't do that to Rahne when she wanted to pretend it never happened, just keep him as her friend. "The thing we've been hiding, I  _can't_  tell you about that. And I honestly haven't the faintest idea why she's furious with me now."

"I know what you did at the party."

And  _that_  was entirely unexpected.

He could do little more than gape at his friend. Ray rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Yeah, stop looking at me like that. I didn't tell anybody. It's not my shit to tell."

Sam looked away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to grasp that. So, Rahne told Ray—probably no one else. Which, okay, she needed to confide it, probably, but still. He thought she hadn't wanted to let anyone know. Then Ray said he'd known for months, and it was an even bigger shock to him that he could have talked about it with Ray all this time—Rahne obviously had. Then again, he and Rahne had consciously avoided the topic with one another, so it's not like he could have known.

Ray dropped another bomb on him, though, which led to an even bigger conclusion. "It's tearing her up, too, Sam. You need to talk to her about it."

"We already did. She wants tah ignore it." More like, pretend, but he wasn't going to be picky about the wording.

"Bull. Try again. I wasn't kidding when I said I think it has something to do with her anger now. I don't—"

He thought it… "Wait. You think—no. I…"

That connection—between their encounter at the party and her current behavior—reverberated in the back of his mind. Maybe it was because he was drained from thinking about it, maybe it was because it was so obvious he hadn't connected it, but… If Ray was telling the truth, that he was wrong to think that she didn't want to ignore what they had done… Suddenly, those almost-moments were in a new light.

Ray grunted and finally prodded. "What?"

"Fuck." If Ray was right…his ignoring the situations…made it worse…which meant that Rahne…was  _hurt_  by it. That she didn't like it.

And to make matters even worse, she was standing outside the door when he opened it to go find her. She had obviously overheard everything he and Ray had said—her expression said it all.

He wasn't surprised when she turned tail and bolted. If he was going to fix this, he knew that he would have to go to extreme measures, and that meant making sure she couldn't bolt away from him. He had to know, once and for all, what was going on. He couldn't go off Ray's guesses, and he obviously didn't know what was up himself. It all led to him sneaking up to her room that night and forcing her to tell him why she had been angry.

"I thought that we were—that ye—but, when Logan came in, ye jus' jumped up and couldna look at me, and dismissed me from the room without so much as a glance. An' I know it's silly, but I jus' canna help it. Ye are nah the only confused one. I jus'—I want ye." She bit her lip, closing her eyes. A flush spread over her cheeks, and her shoulders slumped just a little. "I canna stop thinkin' about the party. It's in me nature, and I keep gettin' caught up in it and it makes everythin' so confused in me head."

The quiet evening enveloped them as her confession hung in the air. He had been pretty close to the mark when he guessed that she didn't like ignoring the situation. But it wasn't because she liked him, or wanted him—it was the memory, the desire. Sam was no stranger to lust, but love was something else entirely. It sounded to him like her behavior was based off lust and denial of it, plus the embarrassment of being attracted to her friend this way.

He wasn't entirely sure what to do, especially when he knew that he liked her as more than a friend. It was a little painful, but he shoved that away as he concentrated on her. This wasn't about pushing boundaries to something new; this had to be about reconstructing their friendship. He reached forward and nudged her chin up, getting her to look at him. "I didn't mean tah ignore you. I thought that you were goin' tah be uncomfortable, considerin' what he might've seen."

The pale skin of her neck rippled as she swallowed. "I thought…"

"I'd never be ashamed tah be near you, Rahne. You're my friend. I'd do anything for you." Including what he was doing now—ignoring, suppressing, denying his own desires, since she made it clear what she wanted.

For a moment, their gazes held. Then, a blush staining her cheeks, she nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Sam. I jus'… It's difficult to know what ye are thinkin' sometimes. But I know I was bein' a brat this week, and I treated ye an' everyone right badly."

"Aw, it's all right." It would have been easier on them both if she'd just said something, but maybe it was better that it happened this way. They had actually talked about something they should have a long time ago.

"No, it's not. But it…it will be, right?"

She was pleading with him, her eyes so wide and bright. He couldn't help smiling, trying to reassure her. "Of course." He backed away a little for distance, something else she had said nagging now at the back of his mind. "What's this about your…nature? You mean wolf stuff?" He knew she hadn't told him everything about her mutation, but what he did know didn't make sense with their situation.

Her expression turned nervous. "I…dinnae worry about—"

"Please, Rahne." He stepped closer again, trying to get her to look at him. "Tell me. I want tah help if I can."

She snorted. Confused, he watched her as she took a slow, steady breath. "Lord, this is embarrassin'. I… Look. Me body is influenced by the moon and by me instincts. Cycles and stages. An' when the moon is in certain stages, I... Now that ye an' I, we—at the party an' all, I want—need—"

In a flash, he understood. He felt his cheeks burning, and she offered a little half-smile, her own face pretty red. "Yeah. I kin handle it, but it makes me a little confused sometimes. Like movie night."

Sam, as an adolescent male, did not regain control of himself at the second part of her statement. If anything, the thought made his imagination run straight into a gutter. He struggled to get himself back on track, processing it as he did Rahne's hand on his face. "It's all righ', Sam. For me, it's jus' natural."

"O-okay." He shook his head swiftly as he realized something. If it hadn't been for him, then so much of her hurt and confusion would not have existed. Maybe their relationship would have progressed normally. But then again, maybe he would never have had her, and a very selfish, caveman part of him preferred at least their brief encounter to nothing at all. "I'm sorry." For preferring this messy situation to nothing at all.

At least with lust present, there was hope for more than that—and he couldn't help hoping that it would someday be an option.

* * *

(And it all led up to their second time.)

_Smooth skin, her skin. A shade of color that was hers and hers alone, little freckles and blemishes that he vaguely remembered but which were, he knew, here, under his fingertips. Sheets slipped between her fingers as she moaned, and he looked up her body as he ran his hand over her leg again—_

Then, jolted out of sleep. It was sudden, jarring, someone next to him, there shouldn't be. No, there shouldn't have been someone there, and he had their hands up and knee pinning them before his sight was fully cleared. It took him a second to move from that sensual dream to a possible danger in reality, but his brain managed to catch up to the situation quickly enough.

He blinked down at… "Rahne!" Voice hoarse from sleep, he swallowed as he sat up and dragged her body along. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her as she buried her head against his chest. "Wha' are you doing here a'—" he twisted his body slightly "—two in the mornin'?"

She didn't say anything. Instead, she pulled her legs underneath her, knelt between his and slipped her arms around his neck. Her lips barely brushed his before stiffened and drew back.

He had to be dreaming, or something. But the adrenaline that had flooded him when he awoke was slowly working through his system. He looked down at her glassy eyes, the tear-streaked cheeks, and it took him a moment to come to the conclusion that she must have been confused. Alcohol? No, he couldn't smell that on her breath. Maybe a bad dream, and she was sleepwalking or confused. Of course, that begged the question of why she had tried to kiss him, but… He kept his voice gentle. "What's wrong?"

Her fingernails scraped gently against the sides of his neck. "I need ye."

And from there, it spiraled. He tried to hold her off, struggled with his conscience and his hormones, but in the end he could never deny Rahne anything.

Not even in the morning, when he woke up to her in his arms and the ensuing conversation was so difficult to get through. At first, when he woke, he thought that they could have an actual shot at a relationship this time around. Sure, it was even more untraditional a start than the last, but at least it was something.

He hadn't counted on her wanted the same thing—a something—but having such a drastically different solution.

He had to stop and think about her request. He knew that giving in would be more than just giving her what she wanted, it would be giving up a part of himself. It would be doing something so against his nature that the only reason he considered it was because it was Rahne. And he'd already decided before that he would take whatever she was willing to give, as long as it was what she wanted. The fact that she brought it up made it clear that it was an option for her.

Bringing up the possibility of a relationship had been his contribution, and that had been shot down. She didn't want that, and to him it was more than clear that she was either operating only on lust and physical attraction, or that she was still afraid to change their friendship into something more serious. A friendship with benefits that had an out-clause was a lot simpler on paper and in thought than a messy, complicated relationship that would forever change their dynamic.

Personally, he thought that their arrangement would be just as messy as a real relationship. But looking at her hesitant, eager, worried expression…he simply couldn't bring himself to say no.

If she wanted this, it didn't matter that it went against his more old-fashioned yearnings. And so he told her, "If you're sure this is what you want, I'm here for you."

It was easier than trying to pretend he didn't feel  _something_  for her.


	7. Iron Bars Can't Hold My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Savin' Me" by Nickelback.

(It was a school day.)

There was no warning, which made it even worse in some ways. If she had a hint, she could have prevented it. And how cliché a line it was, even in her head. There were no words more accurate to explain the sheer shock of the moment. There was no time to prepare.

If she had only known, how she would have clung to their last moment tangled in his sheets.

* * *

(Winter passed in a flurry.)

Their break would have dragged by had it not been the holiday season. Rahne's lonely bed was ignored in favor of a full mansion, teeming with her (pack) friends. In addition to the holiday cheer sweeping through the Institute, her mother's presence helped soothe Rahne's heartache.

Moira MacTaggart rescued her as a cub when she was eight years old. She still had nightmares—running through the pouring rain, fleeing a mob rallied by a local church leader. She never spoke about it to anyone except Ray and Sam; that night was one of her worst experiences. The persecution that she had faced in her little town in Scotland would linger in her mind for the rest of her life. There, the people had thought that lycanthropy came from the shadows of folk lore into reality. She did not dare return to see what had become of her family.

For all she knew, they were killed because they protected her, were related to her. She did not know, and might never learn what became of them. It was impossible for her to think of returning to the place where she was chased by fire and pitchforks.

Sam never mentioned her nightmares. He had known about them since the first time she confided that part of her past. But it was not much of a surprise that one night he witnessed her in the grips of one. A thunderstorm started around midnight, after she had fallen asleep in his arms. When she woke, desperately clawing and whimpering, he merely held her until she grew quiet. In the morning she bandaged up the wounds she caused with many apologies—none of which he took.

"I don't care 'bout the scratches," he said, cupping her face between his palms. "I'd gladly take more if it meant you weren't alone when you were hurtin' from those dreams."

At times like that, she wished she could call him the sweetest  _boyfriend_  ever.

Her dissatisfaction with this fact—their relationship being more of a deal than a commitment—lingered in the back of her mind throughout the winter break. There were times she genuinely forgot to think about it: caroling around the mansion with Tabitha, Amara, and Jubilee; shopping for presents with Jamie and Bobby; putting up decorations around the Institute with everyone who had stayed. There were also times that it came to the forefront of her mind.

Such as on New Year's Eve. While most of her teammates were happily single, or flirting, or who-knew-except-those-involved, there were those who clear in their affections.

Jean and Scott sat close together on a couch smack-dab in front of the fire, a pretty picture of perfection. Though chatting idly with Mr. McCoy and Ms. Munroe, their hands were twined together and one of Scott's arms slung around Jean's shoulders. She rested her head against his shoulder comfortably, with the ease of those who are not afraid to show their affection in public.

On the opposite end of the room, a fidgety Lance smiled as Bobby told a joke. Although wearing torn jeans and his ever-present gloves, he had donned a sweater that was his only affordable way to show effort. The rest of the Brotherhood decided to stay at their house for the evening; though the teams held a positive truce since Apocalypse, there were still personal conflicts—and, Rahne suspected, pride and self-consciousness. Kitty stood with her arm looped through his, wearing a new purple dress inappropriate for the outside weather. The petite brunette rubbed circles on his forearm with her thumb.

Turning her gaze to the large window overlooking the snowy landscape outside, she saw that the window seat was taken by Rogue and Remy. The man previously known as Gambit the Acolyte appeared on the Institute's doorstep mid-December, somehow earning Professor Xavier's trust, Wolverine's ire, and Rogue's affections within an hour. His past was a mystery, except for the little that pertained to them; the Institute was well aware that he had been a "bomb-for-hire" while working with Magneto.

Now he sat across from Rogue, red-on-black gaze fixated on her blushing face. She caressed the back of his hand, both of them wearing gloves—hers whole, his fingerless. The well-insulated touch was more than Rogue tended to bestow on others, especially in such an intimate manner. They were obviously lost in their own world, occasionally glancing out the window at the snow coming down gently in the night.

Spread-out as they were, the couples were still highlighted in neon to Rahne. Seated in her own secluded corner, she glanced from happy pair to happy pair, her chest tightening. It didn't help that Sam was back in the Institute and they had yet to reconnect bodily.

He arrived in a flurry of snow and a wide smile for the people who were already back. She wanted nothing more than to jump him on the spot the moment their eyes locked—her hand gripping the banister, his head tilted up to see her at the top of the entrance hall's stairs. But they were both aware of the impossibility—with Logan back at the Institute, and her mother's continuous presence at her side. They had known it before he left for home, though the actual experience was vastly different from thinking about it.

Yet she couldn't help wanting him—especially now, when her desire was compounded with the heartfelt longing for what they did not share.

While surrounded by couples who did not keep their relationships secret, Rahne's mind was locked on the topic. And he was so close to her. Standing behind her, near the back wall, in conversation with Logan, and she could see them in the mirror over the mantel. How she wished that they could be what she saw around her.

"Now," said a voice in her ear. "Why the long face, wee one?"

Rahne focused her mother's face. "I'm just thinkin', is all."

The lines around her mother's eyes smoothed out to a concerned, straight-lipped stare. "Tha's the third time today ye have been 'jus' thinkin''. Tell me wha's on yer mind."

"Nothin'…" She sighed at the expectant look on Moira's face. "It's—" Hesitation gave way to the strong desire to share, something she had been fighting with since her mother walked into the mansion. She rarely kept things from her mother, anyway… "There's a boy. He doesna know how I feel. An' it's New Year's Eve." No kiss at midnight for her. Even though she and Sam were not actually together, she couldn't help wanting one.

Her mother emitted a little hum of sympathy. "Really now? Which young lad is capturin' yer interest, hmm?" Rahne nudged Moira with her elbow when she started looking around the room with exaggerated movements.

" _M_ _à_ _thair_!" she said, cheeks burning red. "Don' ye embarrass me."

"I won't, I won't!" Moira reached up and brushed a few strands of Rahne's hair from her forehead. "So, tell me about the laddie, then."

She hesitated, but the desire to actually talk about him was so strong. She  _wanted_  to tell Moira about Sam, though being forced to omit certain details. She was used to telling Moira everything, so it spilled out of her when she finally gave herself permission to share.

"He's so caring. He's simple—not in smarts, he's so much smarter than he thinks. But in the way he treats people. How he behaves an' sees the world. It's so easy for him tah care about everyone, even when they're cruel tah him. He's always watching out for us 'cause he jus' can' help it. He's a natural leader who doesna know it and wouldn't care if he were aware. An' I can talk tah him so easily, he's genuine no matter what I say. I-I guess the most important thing is that I am certain he cares, but I can't tell what kind of carin'."

Her eyes focused on the mirror and his face the whole time she spoke. Baring his soul to her mother was incredibly easy, in the strangest way. The desire to talk about him had been building up in her for a while, but since she decided that she couldn't let Ray in on their arrangement she had no close friend to talk to about her feelings anymore. She was bottling it up. Telling her mother was like being able to breathe.

Finally tearing her eyes away from Sam's mirror-profile, she looked at Moira. Her mother's soft smile was warning enough. "So he's the  _tr_ _í_ _d_ _é_ _e d_ _á_ _na_  in one mortal man?"

Rahne laughed. "Oghma, Lugh and Dagda have nothin' on him!" Shaking her head, she tugged lightly on the hem of her sweater and curled her legs up underneath her. "I jus'… We've been changin', I think. It's not bad, but it isna all I want for us." She wanted so much more than he knew to give her.

Moira's tongue clicked sympathetically. "Have ye tried talkin' tah him about it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I dinnae want to ruin what we have. Rather have that then nothin' at all."

It was her motivation for maintaining their particular status quo. What she wanted hardly mattered if he did not desire the same. And she was pretty sure that he did not want more despite the obvious enjoyment of their carnal activities. After all, as sweet as he could be, Rahne was not naïve enough to think that the sex was not a factor.

Sometimes she wondered if he thought of her as a regular release and good friend combined, no strings attached. Such a deal was all too easy for him to enjoy while it lasted. And if he ever wanted another person, it was also easy to walk away from. Especially combined with her assurance that he could stop it the second he wanted it to end.

Really, why would he want anything more? He may have been a kind soul, but he was also an adolescent boy. She didn't really know what he thought about their encounters, what he thought of her, what impression she was leaving on him. To her wolf side, it was merely connection with her mate that her inner instincts assumed (assured) were reciprocal gestures of affection that reaffirmed their relationship. The concept of anything casual was completely lost to that part of her, and there was no way to make it understand what logical, human Rahne knew.

If only she could talk to Moira about it! She never kept anything from her mother before, but time and distance had shaped her into a separate person. Being a teenager and gaining more independence had made her share less and less. Rahne knew she could approach her mother for advice on a lot of matters, but she didn't feel comfortable talking about everything. It was a part of growing up, but it was still a little disconcerting. When she left for the Institute the first time, she was still sharing everything with her mother. And now…

Moira's hand brushed her hair away from her eyes, interrupting her thoughts. She looked over to see a sympathetic smile. " _Nighean,_ I'll jus' give ye a little advice that should be thought about. If ye really want him, yer friendship has already changed. The only way tah go is forward. It's up tah ye now, tah talk tah him about it. An' ye should."

She just nodded in response. Moira caressed her cheek before pulling back and commenting on the time. Rahne let the conversation drift for a few moments before excusing herself to duck into the kitchen for a glass of sparkling cider.

Everyone else was still waiting in the living room. Rahne poured herself a glass, one finger quietly tracing the rim of the plastic champagne flute. The time had grown so late, and she knew that the next ten minutes would lead to everyone congregating together and watching the digital clock over the mantel tick second-by-second down to midnight. Mr. McCoy had brought it out for them. It would blink over exactly at midnight.

She didn't want to go out there and stand alone on New Year's Eve when the man she wanted a kiss from would be unable to press his lips to hers without drawing unwanted attention. Sitting and watching lovey-dovey couples was bad enough; witnessing their midnight kisses when she couldn't have one would be so much worse.

"Pour me one?"

Rahne turned, a faint smile coming to her lips without her permission. Sam leaned casually against the kitchen doorframe. His light blue shirt matched his eyes—she only knew because she saw them up close so many times—and his black slacks hugged his legs. Unlike many males at the mansion or Bayville High, Sam actually wore pants that fit him. It was one of those things that defined him. He was the kind of person who did not see the point to popular style, who was raised to value and appreciate it if his clothes fit when he would get hand-me-downs from cousins more often than something new.

That very outfit had been worn by at least two previous owners. His mother was confident with a needle and tailored clothes to fit her children. Sam told her once that before he came to Bayville, he never thought twice about it. To everyone in his town, a brand-new outfit was an extravagant gift. And even here, he was only concerned that others did not understand that it was necessity, conservation, and tradition—never shameful, never uncomfortable. He was never ashamed of who he was, where he came from, or what he valued.

She wished that she could have that kind of confidence (self-acceptance).

In response to his request, she pulled a second plastic flute towards her. The rest of the bottle went into his flute. As she poured, he came up beside her. When she handed the drink to him her skin felt a little too hot. She reminded herself firmly that they were still in the kitchen even though they were alone.

That no one was around was difficult, because she could not stop her mind from wandering to the things they had done together the last time they were alone.

A shiver raced down her spine and she hastened to the sink, placing the empty bottle carefully on the counter beside it. The room behind her was silent, still. But there was something, tension in the air, that made her turn around and look at him again.

Her stomach started flipping over itself at the look in his eyes, dragging up from her bare feet. She shifted her backside against the counter edge, reacting to the close scrutiny with equal parts shyness and pleasure—her tight jeans, low-cut sweater, and carefully straightened hair had all been her effort to look nice for the party. And by the time his eyes were on her face, she could see that as much as she enjoyed looking at him, he liked doing the same.

Her tongue ran along the edge of her bottom lip and his pupils dilated. "So."

He grinned, a predatory half-smirk that made her inner wolf's playful side perk up. "So?"

"Ye gonna stand there all night, laddie?" she asked. "Or take advantage of the presently crowded room?"

He seemed to be able to read her better. That or it was just too obvious what she wanted from him. She blinked and found herself pressed against the kitchen counter, kissing him like a drowning woman. The heat, most likely brought on by time and distance from their usual nighttime activities, soaked into her skin. She ran her fingers through his hair and registered that his were on her wait to hoist her further up on the counter.

Their teeth scraped together and with the long-practiced ease of a lover, she nudged him backward. Careful to keep their contact, she maneuvered their bodies so that they were no longer in plain sight from the entrance to the kitchen. On the opposite wall, she let him prop her up again by sliding her legs around his hips. Her breathing came in harsh pants as she tiled her head back, his lips travelling along her throat. Then she pulled him back up to her mouth.

For a moment, she lost herself to the feeling. To the way it was so right, but at the same time wrong. Eventually her frenzied mind calmed enough so that she was able to think clearly again. Sam seemed to come to the same conclusion as her: they did not have the freedom for this, not for long.

She felt like groaning in disappointment when he gently lowered her to the ground and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Although Rahne knew that they did not have time to do what they truly wanted, part of her was still very much upset that they stopped. But she had something, at least. That was more than she thought that she would get earlier that evening—only a few minutes ago, even.

His eyes were darkened with desire, and she could read it in every line of his face. "We should go back out," he said.

She couldn't find her voice and settled for a nod. She took the time to straighten her clothes. His long, rough hands were gentle as they smoothed her hair back in place, then his own. She adjusted his shirt and rubbed away any wrinkles that resulted from her frantic pawing at his upper body.

From this point, Rahne expected Sam to smile and disappear back to the party. She resigned herself to standing alone in the kitchen, coming down from the high their kisses had left her on.

Sam instead tilted his head down and pressed a chaste, soft kiss to her lips. Surprised, she stared up at him while her fingers delicately lingered over the spot. There was something in his eyes that she couldn't read, and he let his hair fall into his eyes as he leaned in again, angling for her ear. His warm breath brushed over her cheek.

Her stomach twisted as he said, "Midnight kiss. I know how much you wanted one, an' I know we can't, with everyone else… So that's what I would have done. At midnight."

She stayed frozen as he left the room without looking back. Too many questions rang in her head, the loudest of which was whether he was trying to hint at something more, or if it truly was just a gesture of goodwill. An indication that he was a good enough friend to know her secret desire for that very public declaration.

Rahne shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Whatever he meant, or what she wanted to read into it, it didn't matter. She knew her reality.

* * *

(She was only back in his bed once.)

Moira left one week before school started again, but Logan stayed at the Institute. This complicated the situation for Rahne and Sam, but it was dealt with by repression.

She went about her life as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and he followed her lead flawlessly. They never mentioned the non-midnight kiss that she decided to regard as a heartfelt gift, and they both knew exactly what it meant for their deal (relationship) that the mansion's father-figure was still hanging around. In their limbo state, they wordlessly agreed to focus on their relationships with the others.

It was difficult for them to be alone together and for things not to get heated. The forced extension of their waiting period did nothing good for the way they missed each other.

Ray almost walked in on them in the living room, and he was still suspicious from the start of their involvement with one another. He did not seem any more suspicious than usual, but they started spending more time with others. And hanging out with each other only in public areas, a side effect of which was strengthening their friendship. Even though it was difficult for Rahne to sit across the table from him and not leap into his lap, she appreciated the chance they had to enjoy just their friendship, not indulge in hormonal urges.

That didn't stop her from being thankful that Logan finally left the mansion in the middle of their first week back at school.

His reasons, of course, were less pleasing.

The earlier investigations into the Friends of Humanity had turned up very little that the government and media did not know. Logan's detective skills were being tested by some people who were very good at practicing their prejudices. Although they knew full well exactly what was going on, there wasn't enough for them to go to the police. The members were so careful about their activities that it was just a well-known secret that the mutant-hating group was responsible for kidnappings, assaults, and murders nation-wide. None of the members had been convicted anywhere that the crimes had occurred. Logan had gone to a few of the places, to help out—as had the older team members. But a lot of the evidence was eluding them, and of course anything they turned in was obviously not by the police. In court, it was extremely difficult to hold up because they were considered little more than vigilantes when they tried to present evidence.

Logan's latest trip was due to rumors that made the Institute's students feel decidedly uncomfortable. The word of mouth at school was that a branch was now present in their town. Logan thought that it was nearby, if not actually present in Bayville. Hence heading out to poke around nearby towns for a week and see if anything turned up. The chances of a branch actually forming in their town were small, since the entire world knew about the school.

But it was enough of a threat, considering that they were a rather large target. That accounted for the bomb drills, escape-route memorization, and survival skills that had been added into their Danger Room sessions and pounded into their heads. Just in case the Institute was attacked. Which was scary enough in and of itself, but if the F. O. H. was present in Bayville…

Well. That just doubled her worry.

When Rahne slipped into Sam's room via the balcony that night, it had been up there in the forefront of her mind for hours. Right there with the joy that came from knowing she was free to be with Sam (her mate) again.

He was still up, at his desk and writing in a thick packet that she recognized as part of the calculus homework. She glanced at his stacks—the "to do" was gone, and the "finished" pile was patiently waiting to be packed in his bag. As she slid open the balcony door, he put down his pencil and started re-reading his answers. Under his thin shirt, the lean muscles of his arms and back drew her gaze like a magnet. He hadn't looked up yet, but undoubtedly felt the cold that blew in after her. She took the opportunity to shed her jacket and the shoes that she had worn, a nod towards the weather.

"Just give me a second," he said. "Almost done."

Biting her lip, Rahne ignored his request and walked up to him. Tugging back his chair, she turned it towards her and straddled his lap. Her hands rubbed his shoulders as she leaned her whole body against his and kissed him deeply. He didn't struggle against her at first, but then she felt his hands on her waist pushing her back. She gripped the back of the chair to hold herself to him and leaned back to look at his face. "Ye dinnae want tah worry about that now."

He was smiling, which she knew he would. He was done with all his work to make sure he wouldn't have to finish it late into the night. "I should be, 'cause the packet's going to be a big part of my grade."

"Mmm, but ye only had tah do the first two pages for Thursday," she said, letting her lips hover over his—barely brushing, not enough for a kiss, but enough to send sensual sparks through her body. "There's something else ye need tah be doing right now."

"Is that so?" His hands drifted up her back under her shirt and her head fell back as his lips burned a path down her throat. He hit her collarbone and went back up to her ear, then whispered, "Been a while."

She muffled a laugh as he abruptly stood, keeping her body firmly against his. Her ankles locked around his waist and she teased, "Can't remember what ye should do?"

"If only I coulda forgotten. It woulda made this break so much easier." She murmured her agreement as the mattress pressed against her back, and she started pulling at his clothes.

It escalated from there, their time apart making them eager for one another in a way that was slightly new but oh-so-familiar. New Year's Eve was a small taste of the release of all the passion and desire she fought while unable to do this. They were lost to each other, forgetting the outside world save for the knowledge to keep any sounds muffled, any cries silent. Besides the time that kept them apart, this was the same as countless other times: condom, hushed whispers, a wave of content feeling from her wolf-self. But like their second time after Rahne's nightmare, there was also a sense of desperation to the way she clang to him, sparked by the shadow of current danger.

Afterwards, when they lay on his bed and she curled into his body, he ran a hand up her spine and asked, "What's wrong?"

She didn't want to answer him, but knew that refusing wouldn't help ease her tension. "I dinnae want anyone tah be taken," she said. She looked up at his confused face, highlighted by the glow of the desk light they'd forgotten to turn off. "By the—" She bit her lip. "F. O. H."

Understanding came to his eyes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Nothing's gonna happen."

"Ye canna guarantee it, Sam," she replied. Resting her cheek to the warm plane of his chest, she added, "What if—"

He shifted under her, rolling her to her back. His lips pressed against hers, cutting off the words before they came. Pulling back, he leaned in above her. His face filled her vision. "No," he said. "I can't promise nothing's going to happen. But I can tell you I will do  _anythin'_  to keep you safe." He pressed a quick kiss against her lips as if to seal the promise. "And God forbid, if I fail, I— _we_ —will find them before they can hurt you."

Rahne shook her head, reached up and brushed his hair from his face. "So honest," she whispered, tugging his face down to hers.

She smiled as they kissed, knowing that he heard her meaning. No platitudes or empty promises lay between them. She was confident that he would keep his word. Though the fears remained, they were soothed by the knowledge that he was right. The Professor, the rest of her team (pack), none of them would rest if anyone dared attack one of their own. She was scared despite the knowledge, but his words were enough.

Running her hand down his chest, she quietly accepted that she believed him. Wholeheartedly.

* * *

(The promise was tested too soon.)

 _BRRRRRINNNNG_.

Rahne sighed, rolling her shoulders as the bell finally sounded. Ms. Trace waved a hand negligently at the door as her students burst into chatter, grateful to be released from English. Most of them stood and several were already on their way to the door of the classroom. Unlike the rest of her classmates, Rahne took her time. She didn't want to compete with the rush out the classroom door.

Someone bumped her shoulder as they passed, and a whispered curse was aimed at her back. They were the only two bullying actions she received from her classmates, thankfully. Most of them had grown tired of creating as unwelcoming an environment as possible; the silent treatment was now the preferred weapon of choice.

Of course, they only thought it was a weapon. Rahne considered it a blessing, though she made every effort not to let them see that.

The hallways were a little less dangerous nowadays, but the encouragement of many teachers and the principal—Kelly was still in charge—kept the prejudice going. Taking their cue from the adults, most of the students at Bayville who were not mutants had unspoken permission to treat their mutant classmates however they wanted.

However, the minute things got physical, staff swooped in. That was more out of concern for the "normal" student's safety than that of the mutants, as made clear by their handling of the situation.

Most of the teachers were no help in avoiding possible encounters with bullies, but Rahne was lucky enough to have Ms. Trace just before lunch. She was one of the few teachers who did not care if her students were mutants—only that their assigned work was completed on time and with as few spelling mistakes as possible.

She exchanged a smile with the teacher in question as she finally stood in an almost-empty classroom, closing the text they had been reading. Ms. Trace knew but never mentioned why she was hanging around in her classroom after the bell every day. As always, she started their conversation with ease. "Did you get the chance to read "The Hollow Men" yet, Rahne?"

She smiled. "Yes, I found it in the Institute's library last night. Ye were right, I loved it an' it completely made sense, with the passage. And with the other meanings we were talkin' about yesterday in class. What ye were saying about the time period made a lot more sense." She placed the book in her backpack.

Ms. Trace placed an old-fashioned metal lunchbox on her desk beside a cup of water she had poured from the filter pitcher she kept on her desk. "It's always nice to hear from a student when things click. And I'm glad that you enjoyed it—did you happen to read any more of his work?"

"I didnae have the chance tah last night, but I have the volume I found it in. The Professor lets us take books out of his library, s'long as we take care o' them and make note of what we have on the records." Zipping the top of her bag, she started down the rows of desks towards the front of the room.

"I'd love to see that library," Ms. Trace said a bit wistfully. Rahne had described it to her once, and any self-respecting book lover would have been enamored. "Is the poem in a collection of Eliot's works?"

"Actually, it's an anthology the Professor used in college. Which go-round, I dinnae know." They shared a smile at that—her from familiarity with the Professor's multiple degrees, Ms. Trace in understanding of the man they talked about often. "But there were several Eliot poems along with that one. I didna keep searching once I found the particular one I wanted, but I liked his style a lot. If the Professor has any more of his work, I'll find it." She grinned. "But since school's started up again I'm going tah be busier an' not have as much time to read for pleasure."

Ms. Trace smiled back as she set her lunch on top of her desk. "Well, don't get behind on your actual homework. It's just as important as extracurricular reading."

Rahne laughed as she walked toward the door. "I willna forget. Enjoy yer lunch, though I donna see how watchin' us all from the window can be entertainin'."

Her teacher's eyes twinkled brightly. "It's one of those things about being a teacher. People-watching becomes an art form when you have to catch cheating students and passed notes in class. When you look close enough, you can catch people doing all kinds of humorous things." They shared a last laugh as Rahne slipped out the door.

She made it to her locker with no trouble, grabbing a brown paper bag. She didn't pause at the doors to the cafeteria as it was no longer a safe spot. All of the mutant students preferred to eat outdoors where there was more room to get away if trouble started.

A fair few liked to watch the mutant spectacle of the day—they were curious if bullies started something or tried to pick a fight, and kept an eye on them to see if they did anything freaky (meaning, power-related). Eating in a large group made them feel like a circus exhibit, so now they split into groups and spread out. It cut down on the gawking and harassment, since smaller groups seemed a little less threatening.

The large courtyard in the center of the school was surrounded by the building on three sides. The other was open to the front. Their school was open-campus, which was the only reason that things like what she saw now were possible. Lance lounged underneath a tree with Kitty, while Todd rested on a branch over their heads. Of course, Lance would have just hopped a fence if it meant seeing his girlfriend, but at least it wasn't as bad for him to wander on-campus when they were so close to the edge. They stayed as close to the street as possible in case the two expelled students had to make a run for it off school property.

People avoided their tree like the plague, preferring not to deal with the older mutant who was obviously not under the same power restriction as the actual mutant students of Bayville. Although Principal Kelly watched the open yard from the big window in his office pretty much every lunch, he had at some point given up on chasing Lance away every day. As long as he didn't use his powers there really was very little that Kelly could do besides call the police and report an unauthorized person on-campus—hence the group's close proximity to the edge of the border.

Rahne grinned to herself as she saw that Kitty was reading aloud from the textbook in her lap, holding a water bottle in her other hand. Lance's head was tilted back to the sun, while Todd appeared to be dozing as he lounged on a branch above the couple.

No one watching would guess that Kitty was helping Lance study for his G.E.D., and keeping Todd on top of the material that he should have covered in class that year. The girl and amphibious mutant were two years younger than their friend, but at the time he should have been finishing high school Lance had other concerns—namely, keeping the Brotherhood house funded via his minimum-wage paychecks. She suspected that weighed-down Lance privately accepted Professor Xavier's offer of help to support his friends (family), which only now enabled him to think about his education.

But that was a thought she kept to herself. The Brotherhood had a lot of pride, and she knew it would have hurt to accept help. Just as she knew that Pietro, Fred and Wanda would only let Kitty act like their tutor within the privacy of their own home. Todd was comfortable with lounging around in the open and pretending that he was just chilling, while Lance used these times to multitask: spend time with his girlfriend, study with help, and make good use of his lunch break at work.

Glancing across the courtyard, she avoided the stares and whispers behind hands as she spotted Amara, Tabitha and Roberto on a bench toward the left. Bobby and Jubilee were laughing to her right at a round table. And about halfway between the street and the school, she saw Sam and Ray camped out on the lawn far from any troublemakers.

She headed toward them immediately, relishing in the feeling of warm sunlight, a wonderful contrast to the cool air. It was surprisingly warm that Friday, a freakishly nice day that no one had expected. More people than usual were eating outside to take advantage of that fact, and even less willing to heckle than usual because they were enjoying it so much.

She was just about to greet her two boys when she noticed the van. It eased to the sidewalk as if it was supposed to be there, in plain view of the administrative offices. It had pulled up on a side street, rather than the front drive, but with the road so empty at this time of day it was even more noticeable. The van was a neutral kind of gray, the driver an ambiguous shape behind the windshield.

The symbol on the door was caught her attention and made her freeze in place.

It was three letters that had been on the news too many times. They stood out against the light gray of the van clearly. F, overlapping O, overlapping H.

Ray and Sam were facing her, they couldn't see it and the three of them were too far from the sidewalk. But Todd wasn't angled toward the street; Lance and Kitty faced the school, too. They faced the known threat, what was dealt with every day. They weren't paying attention to the van, to the driver that could see them from his seat. And as she watched, Todd's eyes opened and he snatched a fly out of the air.

A heartbeat later, the doors behind them slid open.

Her frozen body thawed as the sheer shock of the moment was eclipsed by her mind processing what she was seeing.

She screamed. Wordlessly, wildly. Her lunch fell from her hands. Three ski-masked men were already out of the van, and the breath left her lungs with a heavy 'umph' when she saw ropes dangling from their fingers. The shock cut off her cry of warning.

The three at the tree reacted instantly to her cry, but looked in the wrong direction—towards her, to where the scream came from. She thought her hand was flung out in warning, though maybe it was clear where the danger came from since she was running toward them. Or maybe they sensed people behind them.

Whatever the reason, they heeded her warning and turned.

Todd was too slow. A lasso fell around him and he cried out as he was dragged out of the tree and landed heavily on the ground. Kitty, too, didn't react quickly enough and the rope went over her head, squeezed her arms to her body. She struggled in panic as the man dragged her along the ground, too shocked for a moment to think, before phasing out and scrambling on hands and knees away from him.

Lance was faster. With reflexes honed by street life, he flung himself off the ground and laid one of the men flat with a single punch. He then turned to the one who was dragging Todd towards the van, grabbing the rope right out of his hands before engaging him in a violent fistfight. He shouted at Todd to run, an order immediately followed. Todd slipped the ropes off and hopped as fast as he could in her direction—in the direction of the other mutants, because she couldn't be the only one who was running to help.

Her heart nearly stopped when three more vans screeched to a halt, hardly stopping before more thugs—what else were they, but no good dirty rotten  _thugs_ —leaped out. At least ten, all bigger, all muscled; mostly men, but a few hard-edged women. All with ski masks on their faces and violence in their eyes.

She threw a punch at the third guy, the one who lassoed Kitty. He was following his prey, stalking her even though she phased through the lasso again and again. Kitty had started panicking, not thinking clearly because she had yet to stand instead of crawl.

Rahne gave her that opportunity by engaging the man, following her punch with a kick that made him crumple. She clasped her hands together to give her more strength and brought them down on the side of his head, hoping to knock him out. Maybe he was only dazed, but she left him there, quickly turning to help Lance.

He'd gotten the drop on one man, but the one he was fighting got a few lucky punches in. Kitty's boyfriend was on his knees, struggling to breathe, and the man was lifting his leg to kick him in the stomach.

Lance was faster. He punched his hand down and sent the ground under them shaking.

Instead of trying to fight the seismic activity under her feet, Rahne bent her knees to go with the motion, stumbling backwards and away from Lance as she fought against gravity. Although they used to be his first line of offense, Lance's powers were now—over time, with maturity and skill—his last line of defense. They worked much better that way.

The thug who'd been about to kick him in the gut fell over, and the nearest van of rocked back and forth dangerously. The other thugs, however, were still too close to the earth-shaking mutant. They had been converging on him before he used his powers. When he stopped, there would be too many of them, too close for him to fight off.

She saw him glance their way, having enough control that he could keep up the minor shockwave without putting all his concentration into it. She didn't know who he saw behind her—besides Todd—but she could tell when his eyes landed on Kitty's. There was this expression on his face…

A little behind her and to the side, she heard Kitty scream, "Don't you dare!"

Then Rahne knew what she's seen. Lance didn't think he could get away from them, if they were so determined to take a mutant.

And he wasn't about to let them take Kitty, or Todd.

Wobbling, she turned around and sought Sam. Behind her, she heard Lance's reply, so forced-casual it made her teeth ache. "It's worth it." Her eyes locked on Sam without much searching necessary, and she spared time enough only to see that the rest of her team (pack) was still too spread out, converging from their different spots over the lawn.

But Sam already knew what to do, what she wanted to tell him. The tremors stopped just as Sam stomped on the ground.

Then he was shooting up, and she allowed herself to wolf out a little. Just enough to scare the thug that she turned and charged towards. At that moment, she could have cared less about the school rules or what Principal Kelly may have said. All she cared was that her Sam was going to get hurt one way or another, and she'd be right there fighting to help him.

Lance pushed himself up, four of the cavalry converging on him along with the old one who'd regained his balance. Sam crashed down beside him, knocking two of the guys over and creating a sizable dent in the concrete. He flipped back on his feet as soon as he landed, covering Lance's back as they prepared to fight.

Rahne lost track of them as she snarled at the remaining six, the thugs who headed toward her team (pack) with a cold gleam in their eyes. These ones weren't carrying rope—they had chains, brass knuckles, and clubs.

The cavalry wasn't a capture unit, it was a fighting one.

An unfamiliar voice shouted, "We only need two!" Through the adrenaline, she felt a sharp stab of fear in her gut.

She pulled her lips further back from her teeth, intent on scaring the man who clomped towards her. Her thoughts were pounding too fast in her head—she didn't want to use her powers on a human, none of them did. It was a conscious fear, that any attack could be used to increase bad sentiment towards mutants. But she also didn't want to die, and she was absolutely unwilling to let Sam be taken or hurt. So she fell back on the sparring lessons from Logan, using her fur, claws and teeth as intimidation.

But this man was bigger. He had sheer muscle mass on his side. She got a few good hits in, but then he hit her ribs hard enough for them to crack. She lost her breath for a moment, vision blacking, and felt herself be picked up by the scruff of her neck. She was thrown far, landed heavily and wrong. Rahne gasped desperately to draw air back into her lungs.

Her vision cleared enough for her to see the school—to see normal classmates screaming and hovering, watching the chaos while clustered up near the school. To see staff members standing there with arms spread wide, trying to usher the unmoving students into the school building.

To see a man in a suit, his face with ever-cold eyes soaking in the chaos, frozen in place.

Then her eyes focused closer to see that Bobby and Ray were flat on the ground like her, the former struggling to breathe and the latter clutching his head while blood dripped through his fingers. To see Todd kicking one powerful leg into the stomach of a man, whose chain was wrapped around the mutant's hand and crushing bones. To see Amara wildly swinging a club that she must have pulled away from the man she swung at. To see Tabitha fling bombs into the air, blinding a man who was stalking her as she crab-crawled backward in a panic with a vivid red mark on her eye. To see Jubilee facedown on the grass, unmoving while a woman walked away from her casually swinging her club.

Rahne pulled herself off the ground to see most of the thugs were going back to their vans. There was a differently-colored van across the street and for a moment she wondered, until she caught sight of  _them_ , and then all other thoughts were shoved aside.

Lance's forehead was bleeding, rope securing his arms to his sides. One of the men was dragging him inside the first van.

Another had Sam's arms pinned behind his back while a third's fist plowed into her mate's stomach.

Kitty was on the ground feet from her, breathing hard and clutching her side but struggling to get up. Rahne threw herself forward with a scream of rage, knowing that Kitty would be behind her, and shifted all the way to her wolf-form. Her clothes stretched and tore, but she disregarded them entirely as she snarled.

A club came out of nowhere and she was sure something broke. She howled in pain, her ribs on fire. One of the women rushed past her, shouting, "Go! We've got two!"

She could barely breathe. Letting go to her wolf-self, she tried to put her paws underneath her and failed, ribs screaming in protest. But the thugs were rushing, now, having hit her pack hard enough that they were in far too much pain to try and fight any more. She could hear the sounds of it around her, knew it in the fact that no one was running past her toward the van.

Her eyes focused on Sam. Their eyes met before he disappeared into the unlit vehicle. Those eyes were wide with fear, but also relief when he saw her there.

There, and not with him.

Kitty's slight form stumbled into her line of sight, stumbled towards them, screaming. They were all shouting, she could hear their voices—her conscious packmates yelled behind her. But no one was strong enough to fight intense pain, and even if they had they couldn't stop the vans from moving with their powers.

Wicked laughter hit her ears—wicked because was hysterically happy, coming from a person on some kind of high, and how could anyone be happy with  _this_? She pushed her paws underneath herself, struggling to go after her mate, and her head swung to the sound. The other vans were pulling away except for one across the street that was not gray, and that last woman—the one who slammed a club into her side—had her head tilted back.

Her laughter drifted behind as the van started moving, as she closed the door, as they tilted crazily and swung around the corner.

Kitty ran, and she struggled to run with her, to ignore the pain in her side. But she was too hurt, and Kitty was in just as much pain, and her friend stumbled and fell to her knees on the sidewalk. Rahne's legs gave out under her as her lungs screamed for more air than she could give. The last van disappeared around the corner—

And Rahne let loose with a howl.

She howled for Lance, for Kitty, for her wounded pack.

But most of all, for Sam. Her Sam, her mate—who'd promised two nights ago that he would protect her, no one would take her anywhere, he and their pack would get her back if her fears ever came true. And this was the possibility that had been too much to think, a nameless dread she pushed to the back of her mind.

She'd never thought that he would be taken.


	8. Bruised and Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "O'Lord" by Smile Empty Soul.

(She never knew what she had until now.)

It was all she could do to rest when commanded. The daylight hours found her pacing, reading, mumbling her frustration under her breath. Her only concern was to bring him back in one piece, alive—unharmed was a moot point, with his injuries when taken. Her hopes were focused on making sure that his life wouldn't end while he was in captivity.

Besides the not-knowing, what made it worse was that her pack thought she was concerned for a just-friend. She couldn't even find the energy and time to explain that, no, her  _mate_  was missing, not even to those who hadn't missed the slip of tongue. And if they didn't find him soon…a part of her was going to break.

* * *

(The aftermath was turbulent.)

She didn't register her shift back until she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders. Then she realized that her paws were hands, her howl a drawn-out whimper. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she could still see Ray's bloody nose as he pulled her to her feet.

"Up," he said in her ear. "We've got to regroup, preferably away from the street."

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Rahne struggled to breathe. She had to concentrate on something else, or the pain would consume her. She chose the pack as a focal point.

Amara and Tabitha supported each other, the ones closest to the shapeless blur of normal human peers that had become their audience. Rahne refused to look at a single one of the 'normals'. Bobby helped Jubilee walk, a large bruise on her forehead and slightly dazed eyes signaling a possible concussion. She glanced behind her to see that Roberto was treating Kitty with the same care that Ray had shown her, gently pulling her toward the rest of the pack. Todd was at Kitty's side, too, looking more than a little lost.

"I don't know  _what_  in the world you were thinking—"

Rahne's stomach dropped. Her gaze went from her friends to Principal Kelly, standing between them and the school: hands on his hips, face stiff, jaw clenched. The man's voice was too loud, carrying over the spectators—everyone who watched but didn't help. Her fellow mutants were frozen, shocked, but Rahne could have cared less what Kelly thought.

_Her vision cleared enough to see the school—to see a man in a suit, his face with ever-cold eyes soaking in the chaos, frozen in place._

That was all she could see as he spoke. "—but this kind of violence is wildly, ridiculously unacceptable on any terms! How dare you—"

" _Murderer!_ "

Rahne flinched, startled at the feminine shriek that came from just behind her. And then the speaker—Kitty—stomped past her, no longer relying on Roberto's physical support. Her face was pale save for bright red spots on her cheeks, and every breath made her wince. But she shook with rage and came to a stop in front of Kelly, shielding her fellow mutants from their principal with her physical placement. Fire glowed in her eyes. She showed no hesitation, not even when whispers filled the air above their peers, still safely behind the spread arms of the teachers and staff.

Principal Kelly was taken aback only for an instant. Angry red highlighted his face. "How dare you speak to me that way!" he shouted, focus entirely on her. "I wasn't the one whose friends came and attacked this school!"

Kitty's hands balled up into fists and a sharp, deeply sarcastic laugh tore from her throat. "You can't be  _serious_!"

"You will cease speaking to me that—"

"None of you are that stupid!" She cut him off, hair whipping back and forth as her wild eyes moved to the staff members, who had formed a line in front of the other students during the fight. Their expressions were torn between all kinds of conflicting emotions, and Kitty's words were loosely distributed to them all. "They were Friends of Humanity, you bastard! Those vans had their symbol, you've seen it! You  _know_  what they do to anyone they take!"

As she gulped in another breath, the ringing silence was filled with the rumors and news reports from when the first mutilated mutant body was found.

Kitty didn't stop there, shrieking her head off at the principal. "And still you didn't call the police, or the Professor! You just stood there while they took our friends! If they die it's on  _your_ head!  _Murderer_!"

Kelly shook his head, half in denial and half in disbelief. "Now see here! I will not be spoken to that way! These normal students were placed in danger by your—"

Kitty sneered at him as she cut his words off again. "What danger were they in?  _We're_  the ones who were attacked! The people who did that were  _not_  mutants!"

"That's not what I saw!" His defense was weak, and the words fell flat in the air even before Kitty let loose a hysterical, wild laugh.

"What you saw was a group of students attacked by  _grown adults_ , two of them  _kidnapped_ , and the staff members and principal of this school doing  _absolutely nothing_  to help!"

There was a longer pause between words, and Rahne noted—in an out-of-body kind of way—that many adults shifted uncomfortably.

The rest of her was focused almost entirely on the swelling anger that had moved to take the place of her pain and shock. It was so much easier to feel hatred for this ignorant man than it was to feel the pain of Sam's loss. The knowledge wasn't quite processed, mostly in the back of her mind.

And the principal didn't want to stop fighting them, too caught up in his own prejudice. "Regardless of who attacked, it's absolutely clear that your presence brings danger to every normal student—"

"How  _dare_  ye? Ye liar, ye are  _blind_!"

She shocked herself when she snapped, but the anger was enough to carry her. It took her closer to Kelly, whose jaw moved wordlessly, indignant and stunned.

"Open yer eyes an'  _look_  at reality!" she screamed, at him—but also at the blur that was her peers, the shapes that were her teachers. "Ye are  _not_  the ones in danger here! We are the ones who canna walk down the street safely!" She pointed at the road behind her. "We are the ones who canna be in school without ye—" her hand swung around to point at him "—encouragin' hatred! We are the ones who canna be safe in our own  _homes_! Ye have no right,  _no_   _right_  tah be afraid, because  _we_  are the ones livin' in danger!  _Not_  ye!"

The silence after her words felt more loaded than a gun.

She was acutely aware of what she had just said, of the fact that not one of the mutants had ever admitted as much to their classmates before, let alone screamed it at the principal of their school. Her gaze remained locked on the man in front of her, whose face was unsettled and shifting between red and white. He spluttered a few lackluster protests that lacked thought, struggling to come up with an argument in the face of a sudden strength where before, there had only been bowed heads and gritted teeth.

Her voice calmed to a clipped, cold tone that contrasted greatly to the emotion to her earlier speech. "Donna  _dare_  tell me that we put others in danger, Kelly, when ye are tellin'  _them_  to hurt  _us_." She pointed a finger at him. "If my friend and mate dinnae come back alive,  _ye_  are responsible. By encouraging hatred."

His face went completely red, but he was beat to the punch yet again.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who told the Friends of Humanity to come for us." Kitty's voice was right behind her, and her hand squeezed Rahne's shoulder.

Kelly's face drained of all color. Rahne let herself be tugged backwards, to their pack, but did not turn around. She kept her eyes on the man she blamed, the one she always disliked and feared and now felt a burning rage towards.

And with that prominent in her mind, she shook her head and said, "I always knew ye hated us—I jus' never thought ye'd be a monster."

In a small corner of her mind, she saw that these words (accusations) had an effect. He winced.

 _Kitty. Rahne. "_ Enough. Both of you."

She sensed the Professor's disappointment in them, but she also could not feel any guilt. The pain and rage were so intense, and a part of her was distinctly glad that she said it all. That she finally said so much kept bottled up inside day after day.

It wasn't just her declaration: it was  _theirs_. She knew it instinctively, in the way none of her pack was staring at her, the way none of them had spoken to calm or quiet her verbal raging.

She only said what they had come to feel after day upon day of this treatment.

Tearing her eyes away from Kelly's face, she turned to see members of the older team already with her pack: she didn't see Remy, Hank and Logan. But Scott pushed the Professor's wheelchair across the grass. Ororo's face was lined with distress as Tabitha and Amara clung to her. Rogue, the least touchy-feely of the lot, brushed Jubilee's hair back from her face and checking her for a concussion, while Jean's hand rested comfortingly on Bobby's shoulder. Kurt helped prop Roberto up as he struggled to breathe evenly, one arm wrapped around his ribs.

Todd stood at his full vertical height, on straight legs, beside Kitty, letting her lean on him and saying something that had her nodding slowly. Ray stood at her side, a silently comforting presence. He wasn't touching her, but she already knew that it must have been a challenge for him not to visibly spark.

Her eyes went watery when she caught sight of the administrative offices. Ms. Trace was coming through the doors. A few other teachers followed after her, heading in their direction—other more or less friendly teachers, ones who never encouraged their treatment even if they didn't outright speak up.

Rahne felt tears rolling down her cheeks as the Professor rolled to a stop, close enough that he was between his students and their principal. He looked up at Kelly, hands folded in his lap.

She had never seen his expression so angry before.

His voice was colder than liquid nitrogen. "My students have dealt with more from you than anyone their age should."

Kelly opened his mouth, but the Professor steamrolled over him. "Your security did nothing to stop their attackers or help my students to safety. Your administrative staff did not even attempt to call the police—teachers acting of their own accord had the presence of mind to call both myself and the authorities.  _You_  did nothing, and from what I know," he tapped his forehead and Kelly paled, "you witnessed the entire attack." He gripped the arms of his chair. "I sincerely hope you think about your reasons, for rest assured, I will pursue  _every_  legal action available."

Rahne turned her face away from the Professor, knowing that it was the only way he would ever react—according to the limitations of non-mutants. But that didn't mean she liked it.

Over Ray's shoulder, she caught sight of a camera crew—two guys and a female reporter. They were practically salivating.

Her blood turned to ice and she felt a distinct snarl curling on her lips. Ray—seeing her expression—grabbed her arm. "No point," he said in her ear. "Don't make this worse for all of us."

She glared at him, but tugged her arm away and pointedly turned her back on them. Though murk in her memory, she recalled differently-colored vans appearing at some point; a news crew must have stumbled upon them. Or someone had called them. She felt her stomach drop at the thought that someone called for the news rather than the police.

Searching now, she caught sight of men in uniforms shuffling around. A few of them had approached her packmates, and those who were not too injured to speak answered. They did so as confidently as they could while coming down from the adrenaline high and dealing with pain.

Rahne felt herself crashing, too, but the turmoil inside of her was too much for her to allow herself to collapse.

Ms. Trace had come to a halt halfway through the Professor's speech. She took the opportunity after he finished addressing Principal Kelly to direct their focus elsewhere. "We need to get these students to the hospital," she said.

Scott shook his head. "We have medical facilities at the Institute. And a great live-in doctor," he added when her lips tightened. "Mr. McCoy is waiting for us."

Ms. Trace crossed her arms and glanced over at the parking lot in front of the school. Rahne saw that they brought the van, but already knew there wouldn't be enough room. They had rushed to the school, and while the X-Van could hold the main team for missions it was clearly impossible for the entire Institute to fit. Ms. Trace nodded decisively and said, "I have a car that can hold three comfortably."

Kelly rudely butted in before Scott could do more than raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Ms. Trace, you cannot leave halfway through the school day, much less with students!"

Ms. Trace's face transformed before Rahne's eyes. Her favorite English teacher looked up at Kelly with an anger that did not match her usually pleasant personality. "Then call a substitute," she said in a clipped tone. "Or better yet, get off your ass and do something for a change." When his jaw dropped, she let a cold smile come to her lips. " _I_  am going to help my students."

One of the other teachers—a man that Rahne didn't have, but whom she thought might have been Mr. Quarter—intervened before yet another person could get into an impassioned monologue. "I have room for three as well."

Two more teachers offered their cars, though only one more was needed; Mr. Quarter was picked as the second driver. The Professor thanked each of them gratefully with a warm, if strained, smile.

Ms. Trace waved it off. Her eyes landed on Rahne's, and the sympathy that came to them sent more tears right down the girl's cheeks. She walked up to the older woman, sensing Ray trail along behind her. "Thank ye," she said, wiping away tears.

"Come on, dear," Ms. Trace said, grasping Rahne by the shoulders firmly. "Stiff upper lip. You'll get those boys back." There was conviction in her tone, a sense of determination that hit Rahne's core like a hammer on hot metal.

Her insides had been goopy and runny, trying to find a way out of the mess. The intangible confusion inside was not to be outdone by her body's tension. But her teacher's words struck something within her, and that panic-fear-anger that swirled inside became hard as steel—became her focus, her determination.

She would get her Sam back if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

(Strain and stress can break so much.)

Hours later in the medical wing of the Institute, Rahne lay with her eyes closed and a hand braced against her forehead. The room was full of injured students in their beds, the noise level ratcheting up a notch every couple of minutes. The adrenaline rush had disappeared, and now they were all coming down from it to find themselves short two mutants and freaked out.

Although the Friends of Humanity were an undeniably real presence in the world, it felt like a nightmare threat more than an actual, tangible danger to many of her pack. That bubble burst violently and they were left to regroup, their imaginations running wild. Whatever happened to Lance and Sam wasn't going to be good; the only question was when—and whether the pack would find them in time to stop the inevitable.

Rahne's pack members who were attacked sat on beds around her, in the medical bay. She wasn't speaking to anyone, though the others were not as quiet. Jamie curled up at her side the moment she entered the doors of the Institute. The homeschooled boy was completely distraught and she knew her presence helped, but a large part of her wished that someone was there to hold her.

She longed for either one of two friends, who would have held her without question and provided a support she so desperately desired. Since one (lover) was kidnapped and the other (friend) sparking electricity, Rahne had to be strong for Jamie.

The older team was in and out of the room, asking questions as gently as they could. They had yet to make a real decision, and when they did she would be there. She had to be involved in the rescue effort, not left behind the way they often left the younger team. She would be going on this mission whether it was as a member or a stowaway.

With her bed in the corner closest to the door, she could overhear conversations in the corridor if she let her wolf-self take her hearing. She heard Rogue say that Gambit tailed the vans away from the school, but had yet to contact the Institute. Jean reported getting in touch with Logan, who was going to go by the school and see if he could follow the scent of the vans or Gambit. He also had found a few promising leads that they could check if both trackers failed to follow the kidnappers.

"Rahne."

She opened her eyes, the faintest tilt indicating a smile to greet her no-longer-sparking friend. "Ye calmed down faster this time, Ray."

He glanced at the little boy under her arm and tilted his head a fraction. With a quick squeeze around her ribs, the kid quietly scampered off to where Bobby had pulled a pillow over his head.

Confused, Rahne propped herself up on her elbows as Ray took a seat on the edge of her bed. He didn't wait for her to ask, instead focusing his intent gaze on her face and lowering his voice. "I know this is tough on you—probably more so than for the rest of us." He raised an eyebrow at her.

She blinked. "What are ye—"

"You called Sam your mate when you were yelling at Kelly."

For some reason, her heart felt like it was beating faster when she realized that he was right. "So? Ye already knew I thought that way."

"You've never said it like that." He shrugged, hands gripping the edge of the bed firmly. "Look, I'm just saying, I might not be the only one who noticed. We all have a lot more to think about now, but somebody is going to ask eventually. Everyone will want a distraction. And they don't know what I know."

Rahne bit her lip. He had a point. Suddenly the air in the room felt too thin.

They certainly did have other concerns, but gossip would always circulate: people wanted to pass on information, distract themselves. And Ray's hinting opened up a thought she had not considered. When her pack realized that she referred to Sam as her mate, there was no telling what they would think about their personal relationship. If they would jump to sex, or if—by keeping that detail a secret—they would simply assume that the two had a secret relationship. The complicated nature of the issue was enough to make her head spin.

And Jean—Jean already knew about their first time. Rahne did not know if she told anyone, but if she did then they, and she, would be a step closer to the full extent of Sam and Rahne's relationship. She bit her lip: maybe Jean told Scott, or the Professor—despite her assertion that it wasn't her business, Rahne was no stranger to the ways of girls to whom gossip was a driving force in social hierarchy. All the possibilities…

But there was something else to all this: the fact that she had never wanted it to be a secret. She didn't want it to be a business arrangement rather than a real relationship, either, but no one would know that when the truth came out. And Sam, when—she refused to think 'if'—he came back, what would he say? What would he think?

And having him back… Could she really go back to the way they were? She was suddenly, acutely, aware of the fact that at that very moment the people she lived with, the mutants she loved, the men and women who would help her find Sam—were completely unaware of the nature of her relationship with him. They didn't know that he meant everything to her, that she considered him her mate—a term that went deeper than friend, boyfriend, husband. If only they did.

With a bolt of understanding, she wished that she could publicly claim him, and their relationship. That surviving on the shadows of night, on encounters unspoken, was no longer enough for her. It hadn't been for a very long time, even if she ignored her desire for true commitment. The precarious nature of their relationship was something never to be open for public debate—she was too wary of what her pack would think—and that left the question of what answer she could give to their questions.

She could tell the truth or lie. Omissions and obscuring the full details was still lying, still holding back a part of what was real from those she lived among. A bitter laugh welled in her throat. Life would be easier if her nature was different. But she was what she was, and that left her inner wolf trembling in pain.

Rahne would bring Sam home no matter what pain, but when he was safe again…their deal would have to be broken.

* * *

(Organization takes too much time.)

Assuring Ray that she could handle the problem if and when it arose, Rahne made an effort not to watch him wander away. His raised eyebrow indicated that something in her words tipped him off, but he had decided to leave it alone after his warning.

Left waiting in her bed, she quickly decided that she didn't like sitting around while the older team was in another room a few doors down—and probably working on the problem, the way she was barred from doing. She was definitely unhappy with the arrangement. Her inner wolf urged her to go and find out what was happening, a draw that was strong enough to make her do it.

Her breath came in with little pinpricks of pain, but she was able to walk without needing to lean on the wall for help. Her ribs had been bruised in the attack; though expected to make a full recovery, the Professor also encouraged her to rest for the remainder of the day. Willfully ignoring his directions left her feeling a little guilty: knowing she couldn't rest until she knew where Sam was made her resist the emotion.

And so she found herself waiting outside the meeting room, thankful that the door was open. It wasn't as if they were worried about spies, or specifically needed to hide anything from the rest of the students in the Institute. Through the doorway, she listened patiently, content simply to hear the information that set her muscles aching for movement.

Logan had caught up to Gambit, and the two finally checked in. Gambit had followed the vans all the way to a warehouse, and spent the rest of his time investigating all the access points, security detail, and weapons they would be up against. They officially had enough information to mount a rescue effort, but now the question was whether they would take care of it themselves or call in the police.

Some were very much opposed to letting the police handle it, and Rahne was as well. The police in Bayville were more or less neutral toward mutants, unless one fell upon their radar. It stood to reason that they might not take action—and honestly, it was doubtful that they even could. What reason would they have to infiltrate the base? Without a proper warrant and information, they couldn't do anything—and the information that the Institute members could provide wouldn't be enough to stand up in court.

Ultimately, these people were non-powered humans: any mutant retaliation leveled upon them would be twisted to reflect upon all mutants. If they were to go in full-force with their powers, they would once more be putting themselves on the chopping block. They would be the ones "in the wrong" for invading private property—Gambit had checked with his Guild contacts, and the building was owned by someone. Whether that person was a member or not was unclear, though suspicion pointed towards "definitely". For now, Logan and Gambit were watching and waiting outside the building, keeping an eye on the situation, but there were a lot of people there. Even with their powers, they couldn't fight trained security guards and civilian members on their own, so they would need backup—if they were going to go in.

Her heart almost stopped in her chest as the Professor said that they had no choice if there was a chance that they could be made an example of, upholding the values that he tried so hard to teach. Despite the knowledge of his position, despite having felt that way herself and knowing that taking the higher ground was better in the long run for all mutants… oh, her stomach was twisted up under her rib cage, and all she could think was,  _It'll be too late!_

The fear that they wouldn't get to them on time was overwhelming.

Kitty vocally expressed that same sentiment inside the room, loudly and shrilly. Rahne would have crumpled had she not been leaning against the wall. Her hands clenched and unclenched rapidly. Throat tight, she swung around the doorway as well, having to use the frame to keep herself upright. "Ye are willin' to risk them," she managed.

In the meeting room, heads turned her way. Dimly, she was surprised to note that the remaining members of the Brotherhood were also present. They would have protested alongside her and Kitty. Sympathy, surprise, regret, all flowed on different faces, but she locked her eyes on the Professor. Pleading with him.

He was not surprised to see her, and neither did he look as though he was certain of his decision. "The reasons—"

"Ye are willin' to gamble with their lives."

"Rahne."

She shook her head, feeling tears well up in her eyes.  _I am not_. Turning heel, she walked as fast as she could through the metal corridors of the medical facilities and ducked around the nearest corner, supporting herself on the wall.

No. She couldn't cry now. She had to think of a plan, she had to—she had to  _do_  something.

She had to do something…

Her eyes blurred the corridor. She heard feet in the hallway, the senior team most likely. Viciously, she reinforced her mental shields, imagining them with barbed wire and broken glass. Painful, if either the Professor or Jean tried to find her. Let them feel her pain, she didn't care, she just wanted  _her (mate) Sam_ —

A small hand landed on her arm and pulled her back through a wall. She blinked as the light flickered on in a storage closet, opened her mouth, and a gloved hand clapped over it. She blinked at Rogue through her watery, dazed eyes, seeing only sympathy and determination. Her gaze flickered to the second person with them.

Kitty's eyes burned. "We are not leaving it to the police."

* * *

(Vigilante or not, in her soul she knew it was right.)

Hours after leaving the medical wing, overhearing a conversation, and being dragged into a much better one, Rahne opened her closet door. She rooted through until she found items that matched Kitty's hasty description.

" _Form-fitting material, just make sure you can fight. Dark colors. We want to blend with the shadows. We'll go in sooner than anyone, but the cover of night is essential."_

The pile on her bed would do, with a few additions. She sprinted out of her room, moving two doors down to Tabitha's. Rogue was already there, and in silence the two girls found what they needed to borrow. Their teammate wouldn't mind: she had what she called an "open-closet" policy.

" _Make sure you have a belt of some kind—we're bringing weapons with us."_

Back in her room, Rahne stripped off her clothing. The pressure bandages around her ribs would help, but just in case, she downed a couple of the pain pills given to her and made a mental note to store a couple more. She switched to a sports bra and slid her thinnest tank top on, then a pair of black tights so she didn't have to worry about socks. Pulled up her leather pants, the ones that Logan had taken one look at and declared he'd never let her ride the motorcycle and to go put on something modest. They were skintight, but she'd worn them enough—when Logan was not home—that they were broken in, and she could move easily. She tucked the tank top into the waistband.

" _Our shields should be fine, but avoid Jean and the Professor. It won't be surprising that you and I want to be alone."_

A long-sleeved modified uniform top went on next: stretchy, tough material which was less likely to rip. It was missing the shoulder protectors, but cut high to the neck and covered most of her skin. She tucked gloves that Rogue had slipped her into her pocket. They were made of similar material to the uniform top and had modified fingers so that she could remove the tips. Her teammate whispered, "Gambit" in explanation, also slipping her a small bagged meal—made in haste in the kitchen, and eaten quickly and quietly in her room alone.

" _I'll bring what we need. Meet at the honeysuckle bushes when dinner is halfway through."_

She wove Tabitha's belt around her waist, through the belt loops of her pants. She's added simple cloth straps to it, which would hold whatever Kitty brought, and thanked Logan for the military/survival lessons he'd sprung on them a few times over the years. Then she sat and laced Tabitha's combat boots onto her own feet: the indentations weren't perfectly broken in to her feet, but they were comfortable and the right size. She took slow and even breaths against the dull pain

" _We have the training, the skills, the knowledge, and—thanks to Rogue—necessary help."_

She was tired, but the energy from adrenaline would keep her going—as would a little bit of extra help. She grabbed a purported energy-in-a-bottle that she and Rogue had each snatched from Tabitha's room. Downing it quickly, she then ran her fingers through her hair. Binding it tightly in braids close to her head, she took a moment to run a damp washcloth over her face to help wake her up. She stared at herself in the mirror, the sun sinking outside and casting shadows against the wall. Evening approached.

" _We're going to get them back ourselves."_


	9. An Uneven Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Fields of Innocence" by Evanescence.

(The worst moment is letting go.)

He knew what he was doing when he stomped on the ground and shot over to the side of a fellow mutant, one who could not fight alone. He knew what he was getting into when he saw her eyes low to the ground, felt that fist in his stomach, heard the rumble of an engine at his back. He knew, and he would do it over and over again.

Because he wanted her beside him for everything major in life—except for this.

For once, he was grateful that she was nowhere nearby.

* * *

(It's hard to remember the world outside of pain.)

Pain woke him.

The pain spread from Sam's foot to the rest of his body. To his elbows and knees, to his shin, to his back. His cheek felt uncomfortably warm, which likely meant a bruise was forming. And his eyes felt stuck together, gummy. So he had to try hard to open them.

The result was a view of grimy concrete and metal bars. An open-top cage, and the barred door, though the walls on the sides and back were roughly-packed stone. They were poorly made walls, and he catalogued the information as he sat up slowly.

He moved as slowly as he could so as not to aggravate the guard—or captor. Whatever he could be called, the man in question glared down at him, slowly swinging a baton in one hand. Sam swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat, and hesitantly met the eyes of the man.

He received a kick in the side for his audacity. The brute growled something about monsters respecting human beings.

Ah. One of those.

His memories were starting to sharpen. The school, the shouts of his teammates, cannon-balling, thick arms holding his own back, Rahne's devastated eyes, the van door closing, a heavy fist to his head…

The pain in his foot distracted Sam as he shifted to lean against the wall. Glancing down, he felt queasy. The bones of his left foot didn't look quite right, and blood was already swelling up under the skin. Broken, probably. What a lovely wake-up call.

The cell door slammed as more epithets and curses fell on deaf ears. Sam couldn't even be bothered to look up until a hand appeared out of nowhere.

On reflex, his own hand shot out to stop it. He blinked stupidly until he recognized Lance's hard eyes. Then he bit his lip and relaxed. "Sorry," he murmured, softly so that no one would hear.

Lance shrugged. "I startled you." The older boy leaned down, taking a closer look at Sam's injured foot. "He really slammed it. Probably so that you couldn't use your powers," he added darkly. "They seem to have some idea of how you did. Think mine has to do with my hands."

Sam took note of Lance's injuries. There was a bruise forming on his chin, and the cut on his forehead had only stopped bleeding after a thick trail had made its way down the side of his face and reached the collar of his shirt. Any wounds underneath his clothes weren't bleeding. One of Lance's hands was in just as bad of shape as his foot, while on closer inspection his other wrist was bruised. "You slammed 'em into the ground at the school," he remembered.

Lance nodded. It went without saying that Lance was still capable of using his powers without that move, having done so enough times during the tenser years between the X-Men and Brotherhood. "But fuck—they got lucky. I can't use my powers while we were in here." He sighed. "These walls are barely stable. The top could come crashing down on us."

He shook his head when Lance's gaze turned questioning. "More luck for 'em. I need both my feet."

Obviously unhappy, Lance grit his teeth. "For idiots, they sure did trap us well." He clearly didn't like that at all, but his temper was in check: no minor trembles disturbed the ground.

Sam looked around their cell for any clues. It was interesting that they were both holed up in one together. Raising his eyes toward the ceiling, he pressed his lips together tightly when he saw that it looked like a warehouse. Something with a high, industrial ceiling. But the wall across from them, outside the cell door, was solid earth. "I don' like this."

"Really? Never would have guessed  _that_  one."

He glared at Lance for the sarcasm. "I mean the ceiling. Why's it open like that?"

Lance frowned. He stood, reaching for the bars, but they were too high even when he jumped. Instead of continuing to try, Lance crouched down and placed his hand with the bruised wrist flat on the ground. Sam watched and waited, wondering.

Contrary to his assumption that Lance could only create earthquakes, it seemed that he either had more skills than revealed before or his mutation had developed further over the years. Lance tilted his head slightly and said, "Earth all around us. They broke up the concrete and dug it out, made a cell below ground-level." His eyes half-opened, only the whites showing. "But the rest of the floor is still concrete, on the same level. Above us." He removed his hand from the ground, face grim.

Sam looked back up at the bars above them—open, not wide enough for a body, but wide enough. "People can look down here," he said softly.

Lance nodded. "We're on display."

* * *

(A person has to do what they have the power to do.)

She had a gun.

It was strange, the weight heavy against her hip. Kitty and Rogue were also carrying and prepared to use the weapons lifted from Logan's not-secret stash. The Institute's paranoid resident had made the students practice, emphasizing recognition of various weapons and how to dismantle them. Logan hated being unprepared for anything: with weapons on-site "just in case"—in case of what, no one was entirely sure—he said their presence meant it was best to teach the kids that guns weren't toys. The Professor wasn't fully comfortable with shooting practice, but he had supported gun safety as practical.

The three were used to  _being_  weapons instead of relying on one. However, their plan called for a minimum use of mutant powers—if it ever came to court, they could use it in their defense. Powers were only as last resort, for their own defense. It was similar to the Professor's mantra though warped by the presence of weapons. He was going to be furious when they got back.

Rahne's inner wolf hated the idea, too. She wanted to go in and rip throats out with her teeth, to hell with consequences. Kitty rather liked the power-fuelled violence plan as well, but Rogue acted as a reality check for both of them. She had good points, and she was right: it was better to keep the damage to a minimum, if they were going to do this at all.

All three were already well prepared for punishment after their success.

And pain if they failed (they  _wouldn't_  they  _couldn't_  fail).

Rahne shook her head to dispel the darker thoughts that surged underneath her stubborn positivity. She fiddled with the gloves on her hands, eyes sweeping the sides of the road as they passed. Rogue was in the driver's seat, Kitty shotgun because she had Lance's keys in her backpack.

She'd sworn that if anything happened to her boyfriend's car, they would all be in that much more trouble—but it was their only method of transportation. It was easy enough to get their hands on it when the Brotherhood was temporarily making use of Xavier's offer to let them stay until their de-facto leader came back. The Jeep had been left in front of the Institute and with everyone else at dinner, no one would realize that the vehicle was missing until the rescue was hopefully well under way.

The wind whipped at her hair as she tried to relax her shoulders. Kitty and Rahne were also both still injured from the fight at the high school. If their plan went as it should, there would be no reason to strain either's ribs, or Rahne's wrist, because they wouldn't fight the Friends of Humanity members again.

The sunlight was just leaching out of the night sky as Rogue guided the car to a slow crawl, about two blocks from their destination. As they approached a stop sign, Rahne glanced up at the night sky to see exactly what she assumed would be there: a lean male form in a trenchcoat was halfway through a freefall, landing with uncommon grace on the seat next to her. The car shuddered a bit, and he grasped the bars and steadied himself before taking a seat. Rogue drove on as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Knowing Remy and his acrobatic tricks, it probably was for her.

A firm hand clapped onto her shoulder. Rahne turned and met Remy's red-on-black eyes. He offered her only a nod, one she knew was unspoken support. He had given them the location of the warehouse when Rogue asked for it, agreeing with their view that waiting was not in the best interests of the missing. He was their failsafe—if they did not make it out within the time they agreed he would raise the alarm with the Institute and call in reinforcements.

Remy told them more details about the building, the security they were up against, and what he thought the inside looked like from his brief investigation. The car pulled into an alley and rumbled to a stop in the shadows. Rahne ignored the darkness, casting her eyes about to make sure they were alone and making certain to look up. Kitty stretched her arms slowly, also scanning their surroundings. Neither girl mentioned the murmurs that they could hear between Remy and Rogue.

"…goin' tah have tah trust me."

"Gambit don' like sittin' on the sidelines, chere." A pause. "Jus' be certain a'  _every move_."

"We'll be fine, Swamp Rat, Ah…"

Rogue joined them on their side of the car, Remy disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he'd appeared to give them information. All three donned the final touch to their outfits: ski masks which were a product of one of Forge and Kitty's many geeky projects. They had stitched into each mask a small microphone by the mouth, a video camera cannibalized from a cell phone, and wired both to a small battery pack and button on the hem of the mask to turn on or off. The modified masks would send a live feed to Kitty's computer at home when turned on. The masks themselves were left in the Danger Room lockers, having been used by the team in several sessions to look at a 'villain' viewpoint and discuss weaknesses from another perspective.

This was the part of the plan that each girl was uncertain about, but which all of them knew might be necessary to prove their testimony if the events of that night came to court. And it was more than likely the Professor would take the video footage to court if he were to pursue legal action against the group—an act that he would have to undertake to get them off the streets.

It was Kitty's idea, and hopefully it would work. It also served as a reminder to each of them that their actions for the rest of this rescue mission were under Sentinel-esque scrutiny.

When each mask had been donned and adjusted to the wearer's desire, the girls looked at one another and nodded, pressing the on buttons at the same time. They waited for a moment, Rogue and Rahne turning to Kitty. Having discussed this beforehand, they waited for Kitty to speak.

Arms crossed in front of her chest, she lifted her chin. "This is a rescue mission. There are three of us infiltrating, one standing as backup to alert others in case of our failure—failure, which is  _not_  an option. For those of you who are unaware, this afternoon an attack on mutants in Bayville ended with the abduction of two of them. We are acting now against explicit orders from the Institute because we believe that waiting will leave those two in unnecessary danger. The Friends of Humanity have been linked to a recent rise of anti-mutant hate crimes and a body count which has not brought the police attention it should receive. As is evident from the attack at Bayville High, none of our systems are reliable. Without those systems we must take care of ourselves. So, we'll show you just what mutants are capable of doing."

Kitty turned and led the way down the alley.

* * *

(Don't give up hope, even when it seems pointless.)

Sam had no idea how many hours they had been there, but he knew it was long enough for night to have fallen. When a few of the overhead industrial lights had been turned on, he realized that it had steadily been growing darker inside the warehouse.

He was so damn hungry.

He and Lance had remained quiet when they first heard people above, mutually agreeing—after a quick, heated debate—that provoking their captors was not the brightest idea. As time wore on, it was evident that the people were not going to come down to them or poke their heads above their cage. Sam worried about it until the echoes of conversation they could overhear made it clear that someone was setting up for an event. He did not have a good feeling about that.

Now he and Lance were seated next to each other on one side of their cage, facing the direction where people milled around at ground level. There were a lot of them in the warehouse, carrying an excited, angry kind of tension with them. If they were right about who had captured them, then the Friends of Humanity were having a meeting.

Neither he nor Lance knew what was going to happen now. If they would be killed or tortured tonight, if the X-Men and Brotherhood were coming to get them, if anyone even knew where they were…

Without the use of their powers to break out, the only thing that they could do was wait to hear what would happen next. Cheering broke out, claps, and then an eerie, expectant silence fell.

And they waited.

* * *

(The best laid plans often are not actually so.)

Carefully sliding the door open, Rahne looked in first and considered their options. The main door seemed to be further down the wall, but she saw further down the wall the main light-switch panel. Not all of the lights were on, in an effort to prevent the warehouse from lighting up suspiciously. Those which were turned on had the appearance of security lights from the outside. The light situation left shadows for them to sneak through, an unexpected turn of luck.

Inside, a huddled mass of about twenty to thirty people in ordinary clothes faced a man in a suit standing upon a large wooden box. The people carried clubs and chains, like those that had been used earlier that day, and Rahne curled her lip at the sight (her wolf snarled quietly). The makeshift podium was like all the other tossed-aside boxes lining the room. A few crates closer to the people seemed to hold actual items of use, and as she crouched low and approached the nearest stack of boxes, she noted that there seemed to be items inside them as well.

There was no time to investigate. Peering around the side at the group gathered in the front half of the room, her attention was captured by what lay beyond them. Set in the concrete more than halfway across the floor of the warehouse, a set of metal bars covered a dark, hollow space. She couldn't tell how deep it was or what was inside, but she was more than willing to bet that was a cage.

And who else would be inside, but her mate and Kitty's?

The man in the center began a monologue. "Friends, today was a success!" Cheers went up. Her inner wolf howled, longing to run forward without consideration for the danger. Rahne closed her eyes and crouched, back to the cover she hid behind, pulling herself together. A hand touched her shoulder, and she met Rogue's eyes and nodded.

"By our hands, two more of the inhuman spawn that walk our earth will meet their end!"

Kitty leaned around to check out the situation for herself, and then Rogue took her chance to look. The three of them waited in silent contemplation for a moment, until Rogue made an abrupt movement with her fingers and gestured to the other two to follow her.

"By our hands, these demons will face the wrath of God! What are these creatures, to think that they can walk among us?

Using every ounce of skill that Logan had trained into them, the three girls made use of cover and shadows to work their way around the back of the group and to the other side of the mob huddled in the center of the room. Their excitement and jeering was steadily growing as the man on his makeshift podium riled them with his words.

"To presume that they are equal to us? To assume their superiority over us?"

Once on the other side of the room, Rahne saw what Rogue had noticed. There was a small light leading down into the earth, hidden behind crates to the audience that stood before the shouting man. Only a faint light would have been visible from their position. Rogue was skilled.

"Their dangerous abilities do not make them better—we are better, because we are human! In God's eyes we are warriors who must cast out these monsters from our midst!"

The three of them crept into the tunnel, moving carefully but swiftly. The single guard they encountered was easy enough to take down with a single blow to the back of the head. Rahne struggled with the anxiety she felt—they had to be incapacitated somehow, for only one person to be guarding them. She and Kitty ran down the dirt hall side by side.

"Others are not strong enough—they call for peace with these beasts!" Jeers. "These creatures are dangerous, and  _we_  know that—and  _we_  will do something about it!"

It was simple in construction, having been somehow tunneled out and held up by wood. Above their heads was the underside of the concrete flooring, propped up dangerously by wooden support beams. It was shoddy construction—temporary. Not built to last. They didn't need it to, it would collapse in any escape attempt. A failsafe. They were smart enough to think of that, then.

The mob above wildly cheered and shouted, raising their voices in a hateful mantra.

A door made of metal bars was just ahead of them, and Rahne skidded to a halt as they reached it. Kitty was already crouching with the lock-picks, and Rahne simply grasped the bars of the door and stared in.

Sam.

( _Her mate_ ).

Her Sam, seated on the dirt floor of a cell with bars as the ceiling, one foot stretched out before him. Shoeless, dirty, bruised (and beautiful)—and he stared back with wide, confused eyes. Above them, that hate-filled medley rang throughout the warehouse.

She felt only relief in that moment. (Her mate was alive.)

Then Lance blocked her view of him, wobbling as he rose to his feet (she didn't like that). He looked far more suspicious than Sam, but there was hope in his eyes as he watched Kitty pick the lock. The cell door fell open within a few seconds of her work, and she shot through the doors with Rahne close at her heels.

She didn't pay attention to their reunion, falling to her knees beside Sam and throwing her arms around him. "Ye horrible mate," she said (her wolf said). "Ye dinnae do this tah me ever agin."

He stuttered, "R-Rahne." His arms held her close. And for a brief moment, it was enough.

Her inner wolf quieted, content and determined to fight their way back out if necessary, certain of her capabilities and sure that they would make it now that he was beside her. (She would do absolutely anything to get them out).

But knowing well that their time was limited, even when the mob above was still working itself into a tizzy, she pulled back almost immediately and focused. "Are ye hurt?"

"They broke my foot, thinkin' it had to do with m' powers," he said quickly, pushing himself up. She held his arm, helping him steady himself on the undamaged one.

"I'll help ye out of here," she whispered, slinging his arm around her neck. Turning to the door, she saw that Lance was able to move under his own power, but that one of his hands was curled up to his chest and the other wrist was looking very bruised. But he could walk, and that was all he needed. Rogue held the door for all of them as they slipped out of the cell, and closed it after Rahne had helped Sam through.

Above, the mob's clamor was slowly growing closer, and she could hear the speaker's voice calling for their attention to be directed toward the recently-occupied cell.

Right. Time for plan B.

Kitty and Lance raced towards the end of the dirt corridor but paused before the ascending slope that would take them above ground, behind the cover of the boxes. Rahne could see her telling him what to do from that point on, how to get to his Jeep. Rogue slipped under Sam's other arm and the three of them moved as quickly as possible, which was very fast under the circumstances. The five of them stopped there, Rahne switching Sam's balance to Lance's shoulder.

Rahne stood on her toes to whisper to Sam, "Lance'll help ye get tah the Jeep. We'll provide cover for ye tah escape." She saw he was about to argue and added, "Don' worry, there's a plan."

With that, the two boys were set on their way into the darkness of the warehouse. Upon exiting the underground tunnel themselves, the girls split up silently and headed in different directions. Rahne quickly got ahead of the boys and stopped halfway across the back, to the exit door that they had left unlocked when they snuck in.

She waited there, crouched behind the boxes, and pulled the gun out of her makeshift holster. Sam was struggling, but moving quickly despite his injured foot. Lance had one arm still curled close to his body, but the other was helping Sam without any sign of outright pain.

Across the warehouse, the mob abruptly turned angry. She could hear the change in tone as they went from their former pumped-up blaze into an inferno of outrage. Peering around the side of her hiding place, she saw that they had reached the cage. And, shocked to find it empty, were now turning around and gazing into the darkness around them in fury.

A gunshot rang out, startling the mob. Their cue.

Rahne slid around the piled boxes, running into the light a good ten feet away from the edge that the boys were going to be sneaking through. Upon stepping into the light, she lifted her gun and pointed it directly into the crowd. Sighting down the barrel, as she knew would be captured on film, she angled her shot toward their legs—a wound there would be easily treatable. No kill-shots.

To the far left side, she saw Rogue appear at the same time. And to the far right, Kitty stepped into her own spot. The three of them surrounded the group in the center, a huddled mass which was on the verge of panic at the sight of three masked, suited, gun-wielding individuals.

None of them fired. They held their shots, fingers off the triggers—although that wasn't visible to the group from their distance in this lighting—and waited, standing stock-still. Not a single one of them moved, doing their best to control their breathing.

In the face of that iron-willed control, the group in the center quickly became a huddling mass of terror. The man in the suit waded through his little flock of followers, aiming his comments towards Rogue without clear reason beyond the desire to assert control and picking one of them at random. "What is the meaning of this interruption? Don't you know what good work we're doing?"

Rahne didn't twitch. Neither did Rogue. But Kitty tilted her head to the side, again their spokesperson. "Friends of Humanity."

The man in the suit turned towards her, a broad smile appearing on his face. Rahne shuddered at the sight (it seemed insane). "You know of us!"

Behind her, Rahne hoped that the boys had reached the door. It was good that she couldn't hear them, because they were being stealthy. But they were on a time limit, and since Kitty had passed on the information Lance knew how long they had until Remy was going to call the Professor.

She breathed as slowly and deeply as possible, wondering where they were on their time limit. Kitty had yet to reply to the leader of this group, a fact which was leeching the smile from his face and infusing a grim anger there in its place.

Then she tilted her head to the side, and Rahne watched as she lowered her weapon to point at the ground. Her shoulders lost a hint of their tension. The boys had made it through the door, then—Kitty had seen the crack of outside light which indicated their escape. They just had to get to the Jeep now.

This was the tricky part, the part that they hadn't anticipated and didn't have a plan to follow. "We know of you."

The leader's wide, almost clownish grin reappeared. "Then why, my dear, are you stopping our good work? Or are you in pursuit of those who freed the monsters from our cage?"

Rogue lowered her weapon slightly, making her way towards Rahne. She started moving back slightly as well, and a little closer to Kitty. Kitty took their hints and began carefully stepping towards them. The tension in the room racketed up several notches as the girls neared one another, and the people in front of them remained in place—curious, but wary and carrying weapons that would only have been good for close range combat.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, frantic to escape her rib cage. Her breathing came in heavy, but she ignored the burn and focused on backing slowly towards the door.

They were an arm's length from one another, and inches away from the edge of the light, when Kitty finally answered. "This is what mutants are capable of." Her hands moved swiftly to point the gun directly overhead, and Kitty shot out the light.

Rahne turned tail immediately, hearing screams of fright behind them as they took off under the cover of falling sparks. She recalled the light-switches she saw upon entering, and slowed only enough for Kitty to pass her as she shot twice at the panel.

Sparks flew. Screams sounded, and intensified as the lights throughout the warehouse went dark. Rahne continued on by memory, praying frantically that she remembered it correctly.

She stumbled over a box, her surprise unheard by the chaos behind her. Her chest went from burn to full flame at the jolt she gave her ribs.

They were so short on time. Had to get out. (Sam was out, she had to take care of herself now).

Feet ahead of her, as she scrambled to her knees, the faint light of outside appeared as one of her teammates threw open the door. Two figures made it before her, but she was right on their heels. Throwing the door closed behind her, she grabbed the brick lying innocently beside the doorframe and dropped it in place in a small hollow they'd dug out upon arriving.

Her chest ached…

She ignored the pain, stumbled to her feet, and tore off down the alley after Kitty and Rogue. Both had paused to make sure all three were there, because she knew they'd have been around the corner if they hadn't. She stumbled slightly and Rogue snatched her arm to support her.

They made it around the corner before hearing bangs and shouts. Not stopping, panting for breath against the fire that made her eyes mist, Rahne nearly sobbed when she saw that the Jeep was on and waiting, red lights glowing in front of her.

Kitty threw herself into the backseat ahead of them, and Rahne was gasping by the time she reached them. She felt Kitty's hands grab her and pull her through the door, onto the seat. Rogue was right behind her, but knelt, gun in hand, facing backwards.

"Go," she said tersely.

Rahne tried desperately to clear her eyes. She blinked as she saw Lance in the passenger seat of the car, and then realized belatedly that his hands made driving impossible. Right. Sam had to drive. But his foot…?

Her head was a bit fuzzy. It was hard to concentrate through the pain in her chest.

A hand touched her arm. Kitty. She blinked dazedly at her friend's face, wondering idly when Kitty had removed her mask. Through a haze, she realized that Rogue had dropped to the seat on her other side. Guess no one had figured out where their getaway car was hiding. They were clear, then.

Good. Because she needed Dr. McCoy, her ribs were aching so badly…


	10. Line of Fear and Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray.

(Going in and going under.)

Her mate needed her. One of her packmates wanted to free the man she loved. Another packmate could not sit by while she had the means to assist and the desire not to see them go at it alone. The third packmate stood guard, protecting the woman he loved while respecting her right to fight and her ability to protect herself.

And luck was on their side, when the cover of darkness proved the captors to be cowards.

But they still had to return to the pack, and what they missed while on their own.

* * *

(Being someone's friend isn't always easy.)

What he'd like to know was how he was supposed to sit there and eat dinner as if everything in the world was right. Two of his friends were missing—yeah, two: one from the mansion and the other, the Brotherhood gang.

Ray didn't have a problem with their former rivals that some of the older team obviously did. As far as he was concerned, one street kid regarding another, Lance had done a good job. He was a natural leader, especially without Mystique and Magneto footing the bills and demanding obedience. Maturity got knocked into him after Apocalypse, and when the boys were again left alone with that battered house down the road Lance stepped up. They did okay for themselves despite a lack of privileged money, which separated them from the Institute kids.

Class issues aside, after Apocalypse tensions were smoothed between the two main mutant gangs of Bayville. The Institute was held under a microscope by the media, which put a heavy responsibility on the students who were able to relax in the comfort of their well-guarded mansion. The Brotherhood, on the other hand, simply had less time to "get into trouble" when they had jobs and bills and the status of emancipated minors and barely-legal adults in a house with only mutant owners to act as a security system.

Sometimes Ray got uncomfortable thinking about it. He got the better luck this time 'round, but remembered well his own days before the Institute (and in worse places than the Boardinghouse, at that).

So he wasn't uncomfortable with the boys at his end of the table, with the younger team between them and the older one clustered around Xavier. And they weren't uncomfortable eating across from him, either. Without the main team at school and under the banner of mutant unity, he'd spent a fair amount of time in and out of class keeping an eye on Todd. Even outed himself by dropping a few tips about picking pockets, though he'd added somewhat uncomfortably that he no longer needed to get his hands on petty cash to make it through the week.

Todd hadn't held it against him. He'd gotten the time of day from the youngest Brotherhood member because Lance's little team-switching stunt had been accepted easily by the younger team members at the Institute. Just as they'd been all right with him, he had maintained good relations even in the worst of the Brotherhood's post-Sentinel and pre-Apocalypse days.

It would have been nice if Kitty was there with them, at this strained and quiet dinner. But like Rahne, he didn't blame her for not showing up.

Of course, he could see on Jubilee and Amara's faces that they were curious about Rahne's missing status. Jaime was right beside him, picking at his food. Ray was only able to sip at his soup because he knew what it was like not to have any food. He guessed it was the same for Pietro, Fred, and Todd, each of whom had small portions but full plates (well. Fred had two, but he was the Blob).

He could just guess what was going to go down later tonight among his teammates. They needed a distraction from the stress and worry. Rahne's words—if they were remembered, and they likely would—as well as her actions, would provide enough incentive for gossip. Speculation. Questions.

And he was so going to get dragged into it, him and Jaime. They'd be the likeliest source, after all.

He did not want to answer questions, even knowing what he knew. There was the obvious: his two closest friends definitely did  _not_  see each other as just friends. Rahne's confession about their drunken sex was a complication, but he had prodded Sam to get him to talk to her about it. After that point, all he knew for sure was that "behind closed doors" was more sex. Remarkably recalcitrant at first, Sam had a set of strange morals that made him shut his lips about their little friends-with-benefits deal up until the stress had gotten to him.

A couple of months after it started, Ray was minding his own business with notes for a test when Sam came waltzing into the library, locked the door, and proceeded to vent about his sex life as if Ray had nothing better to do. While at first stunned, he had proceeded to wonder how insane Rahne was and then whether Sam himself was all right in the head. His two best friends weren't the type to thrive with a casual relationship—especially Rahne, who always said her instincts demanded much longer-term commitment.

He could  _hear_  the excuses rolling around, the justifications and ultimately the truth that Sam knew but didn't want to accept: that he was letting her use him, and using her in return. Because neither of them wanted to commit to something that changed their relationship, they were using excuses to pretend that they were still just friends—even though their friendship definitely had changed, and would never go back. Some people could enter a casual fling with a friend and go back, but not everyone was made that way.

Except… " _I_ don't think this is a good idea, so  _you two_  should stop it now." Yeah,  _that_  would go over well. No. And he was admittedly feeling irritated at Rahne for not telling him about this development, even though it was definitely her secret to keep or tell. Ultimately they'd do what they wanted, so he could only give advice to the one who had approached him. And Sam took it with that look that said he thought he knew better than Ray what he was doing.

Well, it wasn't like he could stop them.

And who knew—maybe they would admit to each other that they wanted more. If one of them confessed, the other would follow suit. Rahne's little "You hurt my mate!" freakout was proof enough that she thought of Sam that way. And Sam hadn't exactly kept him updated on the situation—only venting the stress out twice more since that first conversation, and each time he had listened to Ray's advice of "Tell her, you idiot!" with more consideration.

Then he had to go and get himself captured by psychos.

Ray tapped his spoon on the edge of his empty soup bowl. He didn't want to get up from the table, but as he glanced around at the other glum and worried faces, he also didn't want to stay. Damn, they all looked so depressed.

His eyes traveled over each of the senior team members before he noticed something odd. Rogue wasn't sitting with them. Letting his gaze travel instead of staring into the space above his meal like he had been since he sat, thinking all those thoughts he probably shouldn't have, he realized that she was the only one he wouldn't have expected to be missing. Kitty and Rahne, sure. Rogue?

Well, Remy was out there with Logan, the two of them tracking the vans. The Professor had said that only the senior team would be involved in any rescue attempt when he'd spoken to them all in the med wing after they were fixed up from their injuries.

But she shouldn't have been too worried about him to eat. Remy was a Master Thief, trained by the New Orleans Thieves Guild (he spoke about it as an all-caps honor, which admittedly impressed Ray although he was sure Scott would throw a hissy fit if he knew). He knew how to take care of himself in any kind of fight, and he was sneaky enough to avoid fights most of the time anyway.

Then again, she was pretty close to Kitty. Maybe she was just up in their room, being a good friend. He was planning to check on Rahne before bed after having been told in quite clearly, if softly, that she wanted to be alone for the evening.

Scooting his chair back from the table, he took his bowl to the kitchen. Behind him he heard another set of dishes clink, and Jaime's slightly shuffling walk followed him to the kitchen. He pulled the kid under his arm as they left the kitchen, guiding him towards the TV room. Some mind-numbing was definitely in order.

* * *

(Surprises can be both welcome and uncomfortable.)

A couple of hours later, he still hadn't managed to stop thinking.

At least Jaime was distracted. Tabby had cuddled up to him while they watched some random program, keeping the kid from feeling isolated among the still uncomfortably-silent group. Most had made their way into the TV room following dinner, except for the adults. The Brotherhood boys hung around the back of the room, in a corner by themselves. Ray really wished that Kitty had decided to come down and join them, so the guys wouldn't feel too lonely among this crowd.

He responded to everyone's lackluster reception by taking the chair closest to them, angled so that they could talk if interested. Todd and Fred seemed content to worry in silence, though Pietro had a stack of books he'd picked from the shelf on the wall. He was working through them at a ridiculous speed, but still slower than Ray bet he could make it through them. Wasting time, which the speed demon had too much of on a regular day.

Hopefully boredom wouldn't spark a war, though chances were when Pietro was done with those books he'd be jumpier than Todd. They really didn't need that right now—none of them, neither team. While the senior team was in the room, Scott was the only one periodically glancing at the Brotherhood over the top of his textbook. Jean had worksheets spread out in front of her, and Kurt sat on the other side of Jaime and Tabby with his eyes squarely on the TV.

Thankfully Evan was still with the Morlocks or he and Pietro would already have blown up the mansion.

Rogue was still missing, but now Ray was pretty sure she was with Kitty. He wondered if he should check on Rahne soon, before deciding against it and sticking to his original plan.

Most of the younger team was clustered by Tabby and Jaime on the couch, heads together as they chattered quietly to fill up the obvious missing space. Each of them sat somewhat stiffly: no one had escaped unwounded. McCoy had hesitated before allowing them all out of the medical wing for dinner, and only relented because each promised to take the rest of the day easy.

He was right about the gossip, though. Jubilee was eyeing him as if she were about to come over and start asking pointed, annoying questions. He clutched one of the books Pietro had finished in his hands, trying vainly to read it and ignore—

"Ruhe!"

On the couch, Kurt sprung upright like someone had poked him with a stick. Ray raised an eyebrow, the room hushing even further from an uncharacteristically dull murmur. His eye caught on the TV screen just as Tabby grabbed the remote from the table in front of her. Then he got it.

And he felt like throwing up.

The national news had followed whatever program had been on. And framed, playing out for the country to see, was footage from that afternoon's fight at the high school. Whoever called the news had known what was coming, because the clip was right at the start—Todd was being pulled out of the tree, something he hadn't actually seen. He'd turned around to see the amphibious mutant on the ground.

His stomach twisted as the newscaster's voice was overlaid upon the slightly-grainy sound of the fight.  _"…anonymous source claimed that the local news would be interested in what would happen with the local high school's mutant students at noon. We caution viewers to be aware that this is violent content we're about to broadcast. Here in full is a shocking fight and the immediate aftermath, captured by reporters stunned to witness what happened earlier today."_

The sounds from earlier that afternoon rushed through the speakers. It sounded like he was back in the fight, the chaos of it. Now able to see without having to protect himself, he refused to wince at each punch. Whoever had the camera caught it from a sideways angle, and they didn't zoom in but stayed at a wide range, capturing pretty much all the action—the running, the way the rest of the mutants ran towards their friends while the other students were half-running, half backing away.

The camera wobbled when Lance's fists hit the ground, the cameraperson struggling to keep hold of what was happening.  _"Don't you dare!"_  He recognized that scream, faint though it was—the camera crew had stayed across the street for this, to capture it all. He swallowed hard at the sound of Kitty's fear.

The camera righted just as Sam took off, his landing beside Lance much clearer as the camera stabilized. Ray realized then that even though Kitty had obviously been phasing through the rope, Rahne had refused to change to her wolf shape until that point. Until, faced with many attackers who obviously intended violence, her Sam trapped by them, she—and her wolf—had no choice. And the rest of them did the same, at first determined until forgetting entirely about the school rules in the face of violent hate.

" _We only need two!"_  That was the signal that all bets were off, shouted as the reinforcements stormed forward.

On the screen, Rahne turned furry and feral, but fought without her teeth and her claws. She tried to scare them off first, backing away, frantic, before a dirty shot to the ribs. He watched as Bobby got an even dirtier slam to the diaphragm that dropped him, breathless. Amara tackled the guy before he could go in for a second hit, all but clawing the club out of his hands and swinging it wildly in front of her. Biting his lip, he saw how Jubilee tried to defend herself from a woman who left her crumpled to the ground with not one, but three swings of that club. Tabby got a punch in the eye and he winced in sympathy (she'd mentioned her dad to him), understanding her panicked bombs to create distance to breathe. Almost proudly, he noticed that Todd used those strong leg muscles to kick one who got a chain wrapped around his hand. And he winced as he recalled how he got the bandage on his head, seeing it in violent Technicolor on the screen.

Then his fists curled helplessly, watching as it unfolded.  _"Go! We've got two!"_  and Sam and Lance thrown into a van just within the camera frame and their attackers leaving the field and laughter, just as cruelly gritty as it was live. Ray had to turn his eyes away as he heard Rahne's chilling howl. He kept his eyes closed as the howl transformed into a scream.

They snapped open again as the sound jumped, and saw that the footage had paused in the middle. It resumed closer to the action, and moving closer while recording, just as Kelly opened the floor.

"… _the world you were thinking, but this kind of violence is wildly, ridiculously unacceptable on any terms! How dare you—"_

" _Murderer!_ "

He bared his teeth in a grin that he'd dared not show when it had been live. Kitty interrupted him, her words filtering clearly through the speakers. Ray was shocked to hear it, though. Guess that was the "aftermath" mentioned, though if he'd known all this was filmed, he never would have thought that they would include this bit.

" _None of you are that stupid. They were Friends of Humanity, you—"_ She was bleeped out. _"Those vans had their symbol, you've seen it! You know what they do to anyone they take! And still you didn't call the police, or the Professor! You just stood there while they took our friends! If they die it's on your head! Murderer!"_

Ray rolled his eyes at the principal's incompetent sputtering denials, but his eyebrows rose higher and higher the longer the clip continued into Kitty's diatribe.

" _What you saw was a group of students attacked by grown adults, two of them kidnapped, and the staff members and principal of this school doing absolutely nothing to help!"_

Now he was shocked. How much of this were they going to show? He'd thought that if it made the news, it would stop with the battle to show how dangerous mutants were—but this, this was going into things said on the air that had never been said before. Things that non-mutant people rarely, if ever, heard any  _mutant_  say, and it had  _never_  been on the news.

" _Open yer eyes an' look at reality! Ye are not the ones in danger here! We are the ones who canna walk down the street safely! We are the ones who canna be in school without ye encouragin' hatred! We are the ones who canna be safe in our own homes! Ye have no right, no right tah be afraid, because we are the ones livin' in danger! Not ye!"_

Rahne's freaking  _speech_ …he had  _never_  dreamed would be heard by anyone but those present at the school. And now people all over the country were watching Rahne with that fire in her eyes, with that agony in her voice. After the silence that rang at her words, her face became cold. He watched himself and the rest of their friends, realizing with a shock that all of their expressions matched hers—a disturbing coldness, echoing her. The way their anger was echoed her shouting accusations.

" _Donna dare tell me that we put others in danger, Kelly, when ye are tellin' them to hurt us. If my friend and mate dinnae come back alive, ye are responsible. By encouraging hatred."_

And the kickers, spoken as he finally saw the Professor come into view, Scott pushing him through the grass alongside the senior team, whose faces were easily recognizable by the media.

" _I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who told the Friends of Humanity to come for us."_

" _I always knew ye hated us—I jus' never thought ye'd be a monster."_

" _Enough—"_

The professor's expression was the most shocking. Betrayal and anger were plain on the face the world had never seen captured in anything but a benevolent kindness (no camera crews could even get close enough during the Apocalypse mess). The world knew him as a spokesperson for mutants, as one of the major faces, as one of the most powerful alive.

And there, the video stopped.

Kitty and Rahne, fifteen minutes of fame—and likely a hell of a backlash. His lips pressed together at the thought, but then simply couldn't bring himself to wish they could change any of what was said. There was a reason the rest of them had moved close behind the Rahne and Kitty, a visual support. They spoke for all of them, the thoughts they had never shared with the normal students, in the adrenaline-fuelled aftermath of the battle. Truth purified by fire.

The cut was no accident, either. Although he could appreciate how much of the encounter was shown, he recalled how carefully the senior team had helped each of them leave the field—the true aftermath, their injuries, was not obvious in the frames where they stood proud and defiant, holding themselves together by sheer will and a refusal to allow Kelly to see them cowed by anything while their own were speaking.

Acknowledging their injuries would have made them human, revealed that they were essentially children who had been brutally assaulted by grown adults with the evidence captured on film. And the footage had stopped while focused upon the Professor's face. On his fury. It was a scary image even if you didn't know who he was, and since most people did…

Well. It wasn't exactly hidden sympathy for mutants. It was calculated. And it was still fairer than past news reports.

He clutched the arms of the chair as the anchors looked uncomfortably out at the audience, shock thinly veiled behind serious expressions. They talked about the facts of Bayville High and Xavier's Institute, restating Kitty's claim of Friends of Humanity and adding that the police had no information to confirm or deny that claim yet.

They were just turning it into the usual debate of safety in schools when Scott took the remote from Tabby's frozen hands and switched off the TV. The room startled, half of them demanding it turned back on while the other half expressed their outrage. The Professor rolled into the room, raising his hands and patiently requesting for them to calm down.

Ray ignored it all. Struggling not to spark all over the place, he slipped out of the room and headed toward Rahne's room. She'd want to know about this. And he needed to get out of the room, out of the discussion. What happened, they couldn't do a thing about now.

He stood outside her door for two minutes, knocking patiently, before finally letting himself in. He glanced around the room. A spark of clarity hit as he took in the crumpled clothes on the floor, the open window. He backed out of her room, hoping that he was wrong, heading toward Kitty and Rogue's room. The other two missing girls, surely they wouldn't be so  _stupid_ ….

A minute later he cursed and ran back to the TV room at full speed.

* * *

(Waiting is unpleasant in some circumstances.)

He was sparking.

It was a little hard to control himself when he was feeling so many different things. The sense of betrayal was pretty strong—he wasn't sure if he was amused yet at the irony of the Brotherhood outing the Professor's decision. Worry, that was up there along with frustration.

Couldn't just one thing today go right? Just  _one_?

If Rahne didn't come back from her rescue mission in one piece he was going to  _kill_  her. She was injured! Kitty was injured! What had Rogue been thinking? Well, maybe she thought she could stop them from aggravating their wounds too much. Whatever. They were dead. He'd fry her. And Sam. Both of them were going to be thrown in a tub together and he was going to zap it because they were both out there somewhere and got themselves hurt and  _damn_  it.

And didn't she even think about him or Jaime? Jaime because the kid was freaked out now. Him because he could have  _helped_  her! If she had told him what she'd overheard he would have been right there alongside her. Hell, the entire younger team, her team and Sam's, her freakin'  _pack_ , would have been right there to back her up!

 _God_  if she was thinking of herself and Sam as alphas were they going to have a  _long_  talk when she got dragged back. She couldn't just up and go on a rescue mission without backup, or at least telling someone where she was going, to  _protect_  them. They'd have kept it secret if there wasn't enough room for all of them to go! They could have said they were going to hang out together in groups in their rooms, bonding and commiserating silently. Bam, there you go, cover that the Prof wouldn't detect!

Did she never  _think_?

He sighed and dragged himself out of her room, where he'd been storming around as if he could find a clue to where she went. Of  _course_  she thought—she  _thought_  that she had to go get her mate back, and hadn't considered telling them because her mind was so focused on that.

She wasn't alone, at least: Kitty and Rogue were good, and were both on the senior team so they had more experience. And she likely had Remy's help, too, since they had to figure out where they were going from somewhere and the resident Cajun thief had tracked the vans away from the school and got a location.

Ray had to admit, he was glad he wasn't Remy right now. Logan was going to tear him to shreds when he found out what Ray suspected was going on while he was talking to the police and leaving the thief to watch the warehouse. The Professor had sent Scott and Jean out to meet up with Remy at the warehouse to confirm what they thought, deciding against sending the whole senior team or notifying Logan while he was busy.

His lip tilted up a bit as he left Rahne's room. Personally, he suspected that the Professor was a bit afraid to tell Logan without proof. Nobody liked it when he got into one of those angry moods, including their resident leader and guardian.

Glancing both ways down the hallway, he saw the door to Kitty and Rogue's room was slightly ajar still. He hadn't closed it all the way when he left. But when he walked over, he realized that he could hear sounds within the room and entered without thinking to knock or pause. Because it sounded like…

Kurt's head turned quickly upon Ray's entry, but the blue mutant waved him over instead of leaping away from Kitty's computer. He was practically vibrating with excitement, speaking before Ray even had the chance to ask a question. "Ich dachte Kitty könnte etwas auf ihren Computer—"

"English." He leaned forward, eyes tracking the three videos open on the screen.

"Es tut mir leid. I thought Keety's computer might haf answers und es war nicht—"

"Was it sleeping?" He interrupted, knowing like Kurt that Kitty had excellent computer security. "This was running?" There was movement on the screens. He recognized the setup from the Danger Room sessions with those masks that Kitty and Forge had cobbled together. Had they actually…?

"Ja!" Kurt pointed at the screen. "Live." He clicked on one screen, brought it up, and moved the mouse. "Here."

He started that one over from the start of the feed, and Ray watched as a ski-masked face came into view. Yup, those were the masks—sure enough, Kitty's voice echoed out of the speakers, captured by the microphone in the edge of her mask.

" _This is a rescue mission. There are three of us infiltrating, one standing as backup to alert others in case of our failure—failure, which is not an option. For those of you who are unaware, this afternoon an attack on mutants in Bayville ended with the abduction of two of them. We are acting now against explicit orders from the Institute because we believe that waiting will leave those two in unnecessary danger. The Friends of Humanity have been linked to a recent rise of anti-mutant hate crimes and a body count which has not brought the police attention it should receive. As is evident from the attack at Bayville High, none of our systems are reliable. Without those systems we must take care of ourselves. So, we'll show you just what mutants are capable of doing."_

It was quite the speech. As news-worthy as her last.

Ray clutched the back of the chair and sped the video back up to the live feed, pushing it back so that all three videos were visible again. Kitty, Rogue, and Rahne…and guns. Aimed at a group, some of the forms almost familiar from that afternoon merely by bulk and weapon choice. The captors, probably.

Kurt said one of his favored German curses. Ray let out several of his own preferred English ones. But neither of them could tear their eyes away from the screen.

What were they doing? Were they crazy? He could faintly hear one of the people in the center—the leader, it seemed like this was a FOH meeting, were they  _insane_? Up against all those people? Once the guns weren't on them anymore, or if any of their members were slipping through the shadows to sneak around them—and why hadn't they used their powers to walk away from this?

He wouldn't have his chance to kill Rahne. The Professor would do it before him

His panicked thoughts latched back onto the scene in front of him at the sound of familiar words in Kitty's voice.

" _This is what mutants are capable of."_

On her screen, the arm holding the gun swung upwards and fired. Sparks flew down and the mob beyond was cowering as all three turned. The movements were shaky, and though the night-vision filters had kicked in it was difficult to tell what was happening. He thought that on one of them, the next shot fired was directed towards a wall. Maybe.

He held his breath as he waited. Watched as light showed, as the three figures were running, their movements making the picture too shaky at this small size to tell who was who for sure. They couldn't hear much, very well, but they could see.

Kurt hissed out a breath at the sight of a familiar Jeep, and Ray cursed in relief when he saw the backs of two heads in the front. Kitty's camera went dark after she'd leapt in, and the other two remained on. One was turned around, looking out the back of the Jeep as it drove, and remained turned that way for the longest couple of minutes until finally…she turned around. No one was following them.

Then hers went off, but one was still on. The angle was tilted strangely, and he saw Kitty's concerned expression before the final screen went black.

The two boys sat in front of the computer for the longest minute before, finally, turning to one another. Kurt's expression was everything that Ray could feel—shock, relief, overjoyed at what appeared to be a success, frustration at having to have sat there and just watched it all happen.

Reaching forward, he restarted each of the videos, watching as all three ran together—through Kitty's speech again, and then into their rescue mission. He and Kurt watched in silence, tracking the unstable motions of the cameras, the warehouse. They heard the harsh cheers and shouts, the words that seemed to burn like acid to his ears. He bit his lip in shock at the sight of his friends in that cage, one of the three angling slightly upward for him to see that the cell had bars on the ceiling, which opened up to the warehouse above. He heard murmurs from Kitty and Rahne to Lance and Sam, telling them what to do.

He stopped the playback as Kitty shot out the light. They had to be on their way, but he didn't know how far away the warehouse was from the Institute. It wasn't in town, the Professor had said that much, so it would take at least forty-five minutes to get back from somewhere outside of Bayville. They should alert the Professor. But Ray couldn't make himself move. "Now what?"

Kurt shook his head slowly. "If zhe Professor goes to court…" Ray stiffened at the reminder of the seeming betrayal from the senior team.

And an incredibly rash idea came to mind, one he didn't even second-guess before deciding that he was sick of being inactive, waiting, watching. He wanted to  _do_  something. He wanted to stick it in the face of the people who had shown the footage of that horrible fight at the school on that evening's news.

Ray nudged Kurt aside, finding the files in Kitty's computer and opening a web browser. Kurt knew what he was doing within minutes of starting it. He could have tried to stop Ray, but he didn't. That was a declaration of support in itself.

In five minutes, all three were uploaded to the Internet.

Yeah. This was what mutants were capable of, all right—taking care of their own without abusing their powers, using weapons other human beings had access to, controlling their powers with a firm enough grip that even in the face of that violence, not one of them attacked with mutant abilities. They simply broke in, rescued their missing comrades, and left without harming a single person who was calling for their blood, who would have killed them—and who had already attacked them that very day.

Maybe people would see that in this footage, uncut and not manipulated by the media.


	11. Whistling a New Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "All Good Things (Come to an End)" by Nelly Furtado.

(Waking up has never been so hard.)

If she knew…

Maybe it would have started differently. Gone another direction. Become something more.

But she couldn't control time or other people.

* * *

(Home changes with the people who make it.)

The road leading up to the front doors of the Institute looked too long. Sam shifted his hands uneasily on the wheel as his eyes picked up on the figures standing both within the large, glass entrance and just outside of it on the steps. Either everyone was alerted when he punched in the access code at the gates, or someone had called ahead.

His eyes darted to the rear-view mirror at the motorcycle which caught up to them about six blocks from where he and Lance had been held. Remy would have thought to do so…

And there were blades glinting in the headlights: Logan was here. That meant someone had told him not to go back to watch the warehouse.

Rogue and Kitty had talked a lot about the details of the rescue mission, including why they felt desperate enough to go through with it in the first place.

Personally, he wasn't working through his emotions on  _that_  until he had the time to breathe and actually think about it.

They had barely made it out of the warehouse and Rahne was still unconscious and he wasn't the only one who heard shouts and smashing before they left, which meant that they were angry enough to attack shadows 'cause no one stopped the escape. It was sheer dumb luck they hadn't been caught trying to leave.

The FOH had been worked up into a mob prior to their leaving that cell: if the girls had not brought guns, if they had relied on their powers and close-quarters combat, then…well, the image of what happened at the school came to mind. Especially with two of them already hurt.

Rahne was hurt before she came in to rescue him. That was  _compromised_  and  _reckless_  if he'd ever seen it. But also  _brave_.  _Loyal_. He couldn't ignore that, even when he questioned why she would do something so impulsive.

His eyes lingered on her unconscious reflection in the mirror for a moment.

He forced himself to return his attention to the Jeep. When he stopped before the Institute, Lance let out a controlled breath and adjusted his hands—curled defensively to his chest the whole drive—as he reached out one hand for the keys, which were handed over promptly. He'd kept a careful eye on Sam's driving, a nuisance that he let go with the awareness that this was one of Lance's most precious possessions, and he only had one good leg at the moment.

Sam looked at the Institute, feeling unashamedly grateful that he could see his friends and the newer recruits behind the glass. The Professor sat at the top of the stairs, while the older members of the team and the members of the Brotherhood were converging on the car.

He glanced back to see Kitty drop to the ground, the first one of them out, and stand boldly in front of all of them. Defensive. Protective. Standing up for all of them, allowing Rogue to keep Rahne propped up, and Lance to rest instead of popping up immediately on the defense—even though the set of his shoulders indicated that he was already there, walls and all. Allowing Sam to turn his gaze on all of them and just sit in safety for a moment, soaking it into his tension-riddled body.

Logan raised an eyebrow when Kitty threw her—or rather, his—gun on the ground between the two groups. "You had to steal my weapons?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "We didn't use any of our powers. But we needed something to make them take us seriously."

"Saw that, Half-Pint." None of them had the opportunity to ask what he meant by that before he made towards the back of the Jeep. "Get the rest of them inside to Hank. I want a word with Gambit." The Master Thief had come to a stop behind them, and leaned casually against the bike. His expression was a complete mask, not an ounce of emotion or thought leaking through.

Sam almost snapped at Rogue when she hastily scampered out of the back, leaving Rahne propped up against the backseat. But since she didn't so much as wince, and her condition didn't change, he stopped himself from saying anything. She scrambled to put herself between the stalking Logan and the unmoving Remy. "Logan—"

"Outta the way, Stripes."

"It was our plan, an' not his fault that we went without telling any of ya—"

"Sam." He was distracted from the developing argument as he turned to see Scott on the other side of the driver's door. "Need help?"

"Yeah. Broken foot," he replied, voice tight with strain. He didn't bother saying anything else, just let the older assume that it was pain that made him feel so stressed. Instead of knowledge. He cast a glance towards the back and saw that Jean was gently lifting Rahne with her telekinesis.

Scott helped him hop his way towards the stairs. He passed Lance and the Brotherhood gang on the way, catching his fellow captive's eye for a brief moment of understanding—neither knew exactly how they felt about being here. While it was clear that Lance didn't want to stay, Sam could tell that the Brotherhood's leader was going to end up inside the Institute under McCoy's medical supervision soon enough.

He wondered why the Brotherhood trusted them to take care of Lance's health, when the Professor—

When the older team—

Shoving the thought out of his head, he focused on getting inside. He couldn't think about it now. He would later, when he had time.

* * *

(Explaining is not always easy.)

A steady beeping was the first sound she heard.

Slowly drawing herself back into the world of the living, Rahne's sensitive nose caught the scent of antiseptic, alcohol, and freshly-washed linen. The brightness outside of her eyelids and the faint sound of her own heartbeat… The Institute, probably. There was a faint murmur of conversation in the room, a low voice asking about pain and the response that it was okay.

Her eyes slowly cracked open, and to her hazy mind it was a relief that the movement of her eyelids didn't cause any pain. The light was gentle enough. Slowly turning her head to the side, she realized that she was indeed at the Institute, lying in a bed under McCoy's supervision. The blue-furred man currently had his back to her, attention focused on Lance. The Brotherhood boy's broken hand was being treated, the other gently held in Kitty's grasp. Her back was towards Rahne, too.

Turning her head to the other side, she saw that bed was also occupied. Sam sat with his leg propped up on several pillows, one arm thrown over his eyes. He was stretched out, gloriously alive beside her, even though inside she howled (he was  _hurt_  she wasn't fast enough). But at least they had rescued him.

(Her mate).

His shirt and pants were dirty, torn by rough treatment. He had a few bruises from the fight prior to his capture, and the broken foot was the most obvious one acquired after their forced separation by his captors. That long, blonde hair spread on his pillow and the steady lift of his chest held her attention for the longest amount of time (she watched him just be), so long that she was startled when Dr. McCoy appeared at her bedside and commanded her attention.

From there, she was informed that her activities had stressed her already broken body and that she was incredibly lucky that none of her ribs had punctured a lung and that she hadn't been beat up more while gone. She was also required to remain in the medical wing this time, instead of being allowed to return to the upstairs areas of the Institute. No doubt this was in response to what she did with her freedom (she couldn't bring herself to care about the restrictions).

After her stern lecture from McCoy, Rahne's eyes followed him out of the room as she waited patiently for the Professor to arrive and give them his own lecture. A glance at the bed beside her showed Rahne that Sam (her mate) hadn't moved a bit as McCoy lectured her, which made her think he was asleep. Whatever the case, he wasn't talking to her and she couldn't really bring herself to talk to him, either.

The moments passed in silence, and she stared at his profile and recalled what she had thought earlier in the day. After her conversation with Ray, she knew that she was becoming dissatisfied with their arrangement. She wanted more. She knew it.

But now, seeing him beside her again, she recalled all the reasons she let herself take what she could get. Why that was her only option, if she wanted any part of him at all.

He was alive beside her. She had snatched him back from those who had so wrongly assumed he could be taken away from her. Whatever Rahne decided to do, her resolve that she needed more of him or nothing at all was fast fading away under the onslaught of his breathing form.

She was almost startled by the sight of the Professor, and inside her wolf snapped and snarled (as if he could have stopped her from retrieving her mate).

A small pit in her stomach grew as Sam lifted his arm off his eyes, showing that he had been awake the entire time.

She ignored that, focusing instead on the rest of the people in the room. Kitty had remained perched on the edge of Lance's bed the whole time, and trailing behind the Professor were Rogue and Remy. The two of them looked suitably torn between regret and satisfaction, and Rahne prepared herself for what was to come.

It wasn't as bad as she feared, which would have been anger. The Professor treated all of them like adults, acknowledging the success and coherency of their plan while also reprimanding them for leaving the Institute without warning and without truly prepared backup. They put themselves in danger, and in many ways it was sheer luck that their plan had paid off in the end.

But at the same time, he expressed his gratitude towards them for finding a solution he had been unable to see. For pulling off a scheme which was still ill-advised, but which would not result in more fear-based ammunition against mutants based solely upon their abilities.

She was utterly shocked when he told them about the news broadcast of the school fight, and doubly so when he informed them that Ray and Kurt had stumbled across their mask recordings on Kitty's computer. A large part of her was embarrassed, pleased, and shocked that the boys had proceeded to put the videos online, where they had gone viral. It was likely that the morning news would address the topic.

The most important moment in the lecture, however, was that the Professor acknowledged the unfairness of the decision that led to their desperate rescue mission. He made sure to tell both Lance and Sam that they were valued, that Wolverine and Gambit had been on orders to get them out if it appeared that their captors would do to them what had left other mutants as bodies, and they would have dealt with the mutant backlash as a result of their hand being forced. He had decided to try for the harder end goal because of the danger the group presented to the world as a whole.

Hearing that Remy had explicit instructions to use his illegal skills, and Logan had them to claw his way through human beings, was sobering. None of them were under any childish delusions that either man would have used non-lethal force, and for their pacifistic Professor to approve of it…

That went a way to making up for his main plan.

Rahne glanced at Lance's expression, seeing layers of maturity in his eyes that she had not seen that time years ago when he had joined them for a brief stint with her team (pack). It was almost a surprise. Kitty, too, looked like she accepted the decisions now that they were back where they belonged. She looked to her other side, and saw the same resolution in Sam's expression.

How much older they seemed than their actual ages.

When the Professor was done, Kitty hung around for a few moments longer before trailing out of the room for dinner. Rahne discovered that Lance also had explicit orders to stay in the medical wing, and she finally heard Sam's voice again as he added that he had to stay off his feet for a few days, not just a single night. "McCoy doesn't want me tah move it at all. An' the cast'll be there until it heals."

She bit her lip in sympathy, eyes meeting his for a long moment.

The moment stretched. Her heart felt fluttery, and not in an especially good way, because she couldn't name what emotions she was seeing in his eyes. And after a long moment, he turned his gaze away, stretching his back before settling on the bed with his face tilted towards the ceiling.

And then McCoy bustled back into the room, offering sleep-inducing pain medication. She accepted without hesitation.

* * *

(Sometimes, things simply end.)

It was dark when she woke again. She was uncertain of the time but the dimmed lights were for the patient's comfort, not to mimic day and night. She glanced to either side, noting that Lance still appeared to be asleep. But Sam was staring up at the ceiling.

Rahne carefully sat up, sliding her legs to the side so that she perched on the edge of her bed. Her ribs felt much better. It didn't hurt nearly as much to sit upright as she had feared. Tugging at the blanket that had covered her, she eyed Sam's still motionless form as the sleep-haze cleared away from her brain.

She didn't like the way they had barely spoken the previous night. And now that they were both awake, she wanted to talk to him. She wanted to know what he had to say to her, because her intuition was telling her that there was something unsaid (her mate was behaving strangely towards her, there was something going on).

She slung the blanket around her shoulders, carefully stood up, and moved closer to his bed. The slap of her bare feet against the cold, clean floor echoed under the sound of the heart monitors on Sam and Lance. She had been judged fit enough not to need beeping machines hooked up to her. When she reached her destination, she carefully sat down on the side of the bed, right at Sam's hip. It took a lot of strength for her not to reach for his hand to hold it (his distance was also physical).

He sighed and finally met her eyes, propping himself up on his elbows. She reached out then, pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Dinnae get up." She made sure that she was speaking as softly as possible. "How are ye feeling?"

"Better." His eyes weren't as clear as she would have liked, but it wasn't the painkillers. It was emotions that he was hiding from her, thoughts that he would not say.

She bit her lip, but—how else was she to know? "What's goin' on? Ye want to say something, jus' do it."

He blinked at her, opening and closing his mouth twice before lifting an unsteady hand to comb through his hair. "It's not important righ' now, Rahne."

"Dinnae lie tah me." To her horror, she felt the first pinpricks of tears in her eyes. "Ye could barely look at me las' night."

He shook his head, letting his eyes close. "Rahne…"

"Sam. Ye are my friend. Ye need tah be honest with me." (She ignored her own hypocrisy).

Finally, he looked her straight in the eye without a veil to hide how he felt. "Now's not the time."

"For what?"

Her chest felt tight when she saw the guilt and shame play across his face. And sure enough— "Tah talk about us."

She struggled to control her breathing and to her credit, succeeded in keeping her face as pointedly blank as possible. "Nay, I think now is just the time tah do it."

Sam reached for her hand, and she moved it away before he could. Staring at his face, she waited to hear the words she had been fearing (why now she just got him back why now). He looked surprised, then saddened by her movements, and hesitated a moment longer. Unwilling to make this easier on him, she simply waited in silence.

He looked at her face—she had looked away from his, stared at the mattress instead—and his eyes burned her cheek. "Ah don' think this is good for us, Rahne. Ah don' think we should keep this up anymore."

"This?"

Now he let out a sharp huff of air at her intentional game. But damn him, damn it (hedging was her only defense, all the rest were gone, torn down by him). He pushed himself up and she let him this time, let him sit up beside her even as she determinedly refused to look at him. She pulled her hand back again as he reached for it, and another sharp breath out filled the air between them. "You know what I'm talking about."

She shrugged her shoulders. Her inner wolf was screaming at her and she locked it away as best she could (say something tell him stop this from happening). "Tired a' fucking me, then?" She barely stopped herself from wincing, feeling the harsh words hurt her, too (it wasn't like that they weren't like that not really).

He winced at her harsh words, though. Didn't even pretend that they didn't hurt him—which only confused her, made her more sorrowful and angry. "Rahne. Stop it."

That did it. She finally met his eyes, her voice rising slightly with her emotions. " _Stop_  it? When ye are—"

This time, his hands found her arms. This time, she stopped abruptly at both his comforting-yet-painful touch and the sight of turbulent emotions in his eyes. He leaned in, holding her gaze, and she didn't even bother trying to disguise her emotions (why was this happening she wanted him still).

For a long minute, they simply breathed, staring at one another. His jaw was tensing rhythmically, a tell-tale sign that he was keeping himself in check because he wanted to say something without his temper coloring the words. And finally, he spoke with a calm that was betrayed by the rather emotional expression on his face.

"This is  _not_  about me not wantin' yah, or about yah not—not being enough, or some such nonsense. Yah're amazing an' one of my best friends. An'  _that's_  why, Rahne. Because yah made me promise right at the start a' this that we would stay friends no matter  _what_  happened. Ah'm not breakin' that promise, not now."

She swallowed hard (against the words against the plea against the truth she wanted to tell her mate). "Of course we're friends," she muttered. "But I dinnae understand why now."

He glanced away from her eyes for a moment. "Do yah remember what else we agreed? That if at any time it didn't seem like it'd work anymore, we could stop."

"Then why do ye—" She cut herself off. She had agreed to that, that he had the right to stop this at any time (she didn't realize that failsafe for him could hurt so much). "What changed?" It was almost a whimper, so pathetic.

He rubbed her arms soothingly, trying to comfort her. "Because we want different things outta this." Her eyes widened in panic (did he know and if so it would hurt so much more her mate's rejection), but he didn't see, eyes cast down. "An' Ah can't keep using yah like this."

A brief ray of hope shone. "Ye are not usin' me, Sam."

"No. We're jus' using each other."

And that…she had no argument for. Staring back into his eyes, seeing that he was as torn as she was, she saw that truth.

They were using each other. They did want different things from one another. While both of them still wanted their friendship to last, wanted desperately not to lose the other, the sexual component of their relationship was an addition that made everything much more complicated than it needed to be.

And she was asking for him to be hers (her mate) and she thought of him that way…but he didn't even know that. He didn't know that this was not just the breaking of an arrangement to her, but that her heart was seriously tearing. And that right there was as glaring a sign as any that this whole thing had been a problem right from the start.

She finally had to face what she had ignored all this time, while pretending that having some of him was better than none at all. Saying the words out loud had shocked her with their sense of truth: she heard it. (He was her mate but if he didn't know he couldn't act like it). And if he didn't want to be more…there was nothing for it. She'd have to break her wolf's bond to him, somehow. She wasn't sure how yet, but surely it was possible. Not all wolves were able to keep their mates, after all.

Brushing her hands over her face, she desperately shoved the tears back. She looked at him again only when she was sure that she could present a calmer face. "Ye are still one of my best friends." The tone was more questioning than she'd have liked it to be, but it was enough. He nodded, the strangest sad smile crossing his face.

She swallowed hard—it was already torture, why not ask what she already knew? "If I can ask—what did ye want from me, Sam?"

A faint blush came to his cheeks, and he looked away again. Beyond the doors, she heard footsteps, and prayed for him to hurry with his answer before whoever was coming down the hallway should see them in such a position and draw wrong conclusions. Because they would be wrong, now.

He leaned in, slipping his arms around her in a hug, and she went with it, surprised but also grateful. It felt like a goodbye, as if he thought there would be no more after this point. Maybe he was right, it would hurt to torture herself with close proximity, no matter how much she wanted to stay friends with him.

She almost missed his whisper as he pulled away. "For you to love me."

A faint buzzing noise in her ears, and a chill up the spine at the feel of his breath on her neck, distracted her for a moment. Then she…couldn't think. Her heart beat, and she breathed, but she felt like everything around her was frozen.

_For you to love me._

"Oh, good! You're awake!" McCoy's voice snapped her into awareness again. Her eyes had frozen wide in surprise, and locked on his face—a face that was turned away from her, eyes cast somewhere else, the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

… _love me._

She turned her head, gazing at the doctor, and tried to make her brain function again. This was—he couldn't know, he was an adult and that was just awkward. "Feelin' much better, too. Thank ye, Mr. McCoy."

He started talking about her recovery, so she stood and made her way back to her bed without fuss. She let him check her up again, and then had no choice but to leave as he more or less kicked her out of the medical wing to go to breakfast.

She couldn't catch his eyes as she went. Sam was looking determinedly up at the ceiling, pretending that he was perfectly fine as McCoy asked him how he was feeling. There was no time to talk to him again, not with McCoy in the room, and Lance now awake in the other bed watching the other inmate and the blue doctor.

Rahne made her way to the elevator with her arms crossed protectively and the words echoing in her unbelieving ears.

* * *

(Advice is not always required.)

"So, how long was that going on?"

Sam turned his head and blinked at Lance. McCoy had just left to go pick up their requested breakfasts, leaving the lights on for his two patients. The two had been mostly silent up until that point, and Sam hadn't a clue what he was asking about.

He felt too stressed to deal with other people right now. To stressed to think about things better left in the not-too-distant past.

Talking to Rahne had gone about as well as he thought it would. He wasn't surprised that she had pushed, not at all. And he didn't regret speaking: he knew that he had done the right thing, to confess to her. Let the chips fall where they may. As long as they could rebuild their friendship later, he'd deal with the inevitable withdrawal in the meantime.

That didn't make it hurt less (and it didn't make his other problems disappear).

Lance's raised eyebrow wasn't making him feel any better. Pushing the button on his remote, he lifted his bed slightly higher so that he could sit more comfortably while looking across the empty bed. It wasn't easy to ignore, but he sure tried to pay attention only to the other mutant.

Blinking at him as if he didn't understand why Sam was clueless, Lance was obviously waiting for a response. He rolled his eyes. "How long was what goin' on?"

"You and Rahne."

He felt a shock travel down his spine. There was no way that they were so obvious that Lance had picked up on it. Kitty might have said something, but if she had noticed the entire Institute would have known first. He supposed her coming on the rescue mission (notthinkingaboutit) was a big clue that something was up between them… There was something in Lance's expression, a hint of smugness and questioning, that had Sam suspecting that he was a lot more certain than guessing.

Which meant… "Yah were awake."

Lance rolled his eyes, now. "Neither of you even checked. Now, I didn't exactly like being stuck here and hearing you two, but at least I can be glad you didn't go at it right here."

He looked away, staring at the wall straight ahead. It was stupid to feel hurt at that (just as stupid as wishing they had for the sheer distraction it would have been from—).

A sigh, then a quiet apology. "But seriously, kid—"

"Yah're not that much older than me—"

"—why?" he finished asking, ignoring Sam's childish interruption entirely. "I get not wanting to hurt her. And if I'm guessing right, it wasn't exactly a relationship. But then, why didn't you ask her if you two could be, I don't know, officially-traditionally together?"

Sam blinked at him. "That is such a Kitty term."

"I know." He stuck out his tongue. "Don't deflect."

He let his head fall back against the bed and looked up at the ceiling. "Because she doesn' wan' that."

"You can't be sure if you don't ask."

"She has tah ask." He continued before Lance could say anything else. "Rahne's terrified of losin' people close tah her. An' while Ah'm pretty much in love with her—"what a rush to say out loud, so scary and true "—that might jus' scare her away the fastest. A lot of people who were supposed tah love her ended up hatin' her after her powers came out." Most notably her guardian before Moira, the woman who loved her like a daughter but who had also only been in her life for a handful of years. "Ah'm not pushin' her."

"Then how's she going to feel like it's a risk worth taking if you don't tell her how you feel?"

"Ah did. Didn' get tah say much more 'cause Mr. McCoy came in, though." And that worried him. Would she hide away, never mention it again? Run from him? Did she even feel the same way? If she didn't, what would happen then?

Thankfully, Lance considered that enough. He let out a noncommittal sound, shrugged his shoulders, and turned the topic to the safer waters of history which Sam recalled was something Kitty had been helping him study. Seemed that both of them were eager for a distraction, from their shared— He shut down that thought without hesitation.

Grateful for the conversation, Sam tried to let go of the stress by pushing it to the back of his mind.


	12. Hold My Breath and Jump Right In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Control" by Garbage.

(Sometimes it has to get worse to heal.)

Stunned and uncertain. Tired, worn down, facing too many decisions for the coming days. Drained from twenty-four hours of stress and action. Worried about the immediate future in their small city.

But somehow, they found their way.

* * *

(Everybody has an opinion.)

Rahne lingered in the doorway, looking at the spiked hair that was barely visible over the back of the couch. Ray slumped, his eyes fixed on the TV screen, remote in his hands. As she entered, he changed the channel. Alone in the room he had no one else to answer to when it came to changing channels abruptly, and he took advantage of it now to bounce between news stations.

All day long she had secluded herself in her room—none of her team (pack) were going back to school for the rest of the week. Most left her to herself, respecting her desire for solitude. Even Jaime did, after dragging her down for lunch and then letting her leave with a cheerful wave. The mood around the Institute seemed to be mostly relief spaced around intermittent telephone calls from concerned family members.

The most talking she had done since her…departure…from the medical facilities under the Institute was to Moira. Repeated reassurances to her foster mother got her mind partly off of—

Well. She focused on reassuring Moira.

But the rest of her day had been napping, thinking, writing in a journal only to tear out the pages, and thinking some more. Now she was here, watching the back of Ray's head, trying to get up the courage to fully enter the room.

The evening news revolved around the events of the past twenty-four hours. It shocked her to realize that everything had happened so quickly.

A group of analysts debated on this channel. The only woman was one Rahne recognized vaguely: Ms. Herrera, who treated mutants as possibly problematic and clearly still regarded the whole group as an 'other'—but still gave them more of a chance than others.

She slapped her hand on the table and glared at the older man in scholarly tweed.  _"Play that sound clip from inside the warehouse—the one of this, as you called it, organized assembly."_ Her voice was sharper than usual, and the host allowed her to facilitate her point with evidence.

There was a brief period of silence as the technicians undoubtedly pulled up the most shocking parts of the speech.

"— _t are these creatures, to think that they can walk among us? To presume that they are equal to us? To assume their superiority over us? Their dangerous abilities do not make them better—we are better, because we are human! In God's eyes we are warriors who must cast out these monsters—"_

She remembered that all happening so much more slowly. The hateful words pressed on her ears.

Ms. Herrera gestured with her hand and the sound clip cut off. Her lips had thinned while she listened, and she tilted her chin forward to look over the rims of her thin-framed glasses.

" _It seems I must point out the obvious: those are not the sounds of a peaceful assembly. Those are the sounds of a man inciting a mob to riot. I'm sure that as a psychologist, you have some understanding of mob mindset, Doctor."_ This she addressed to another person sitting at the table, an even older man with very gray hair.

He nodded slowly, looking slightly torn between approval and resignation.  _"It's practically textbook. And if I were present and the subject of those words, I would rightly fear for my life."_

The other man's face was slightly red, but he was determined to stick to his judgment. Rahne could see it.  _"They had no way of knowing what rhetoric the leader's speech would hold when they entered that facility."_

" _For months now, the activities of a nation-wide group identifying itself as the Friends of Humanity has been linked to the bodies of all the young mutants found with injuries that indicated torture—"_

" _They—"_

She flung her hand out in a 'stop' gesture, straightening her shoulders in her immaculately pressed suit. Her voice rose slightly to silence whatever protest he was going to make.  _"—and the organization is currently under police and federal investigation. The known symbol of the organization is on the vans which abducted the two young male mutants from Bayville High. It is not a leap to conclude that those two mutants would be found in a similar condition. The recorded evidence indicates that it is very likely this mob would have killed them. I consider it a logical conclusion—"_

The screen flickered. Ray would not have wanted to hear the rebuttal.

A different news station came on. Rahne's shoulders stiffened at the sight she had seen in-person the night before: a woman wearing the black mask on the screen had her chin tilted up at a defiant angle.

Of course—they told her about this. She eyed the back of Ray's head again, not sure whether to thank him yet.

"— _of Humanity have been linked to a recent rise of anti-mutant hate crimes and a body count which has not brought the police attention it should receive. As is evident from the attack at Bayville High, none of our systems are reliable. Without those systems we must take care of ourselves. So, we'll show you just what mutants are capable of doing."_

The anchorman adjusted his tie, turning in his seat towards the two guest specialists.  _"Everyone's mind has been on this young woman's last statement: 'We'll show you just what mutants are capable of doing.' Doctor—"_

The channel changed again.

It was slightly shaky footage on yet another news station. She actually jumped at the sound of her own voice.

"— _are the ones who canna walk down the street safely! We are the ones who canna be in school without ye encouragin' hatred! We are the ones who canna be safe in our own homes! Ye have no right, no right tah be afraid, because we are the ones livin' in danger! Not ye!"_

She didn't want to hear what they thought of her speech. She hadn't said it for anyone else but her team (her pack). What did it matter what an analyst told people to think? What did it matter, the slant the media put on her anguished words? Rahne only cared that her mate was alive and her friends were alive and it was another day.

Of course, not everything was the way it used to be.

"Ray."

He turned at the sound of her voice, sparks drifting over his skin only for an instant before he registered that she was a familiar face. He opened his mouth to greet her, but it closed almost immediately. Then he was on his feet and moving around the couch. "What's going on?"

Rahne stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She shrugged. Where were the words she had rehearsed minutes before coming here? It was like they had been lost while she heard those spoken in anger from the previous day.

Ray stopped a few feet before her. His expression—

She reached up to her face. Her fingers came away damp.

Oh.

Acknowledging the tears was her last straw. A moment later, her nose was scrunched up against the worn cotton of his T-shirt. His arms were warm and tense around her, hands stiff as if he didn't know exactly where to touch her, and she fought those stupid tears.

It was cathartic, a release she needed, but it made her mad. She didn't want these tears of pain and frustration and fear and joy. She wanted to be able to handle everything without breaking down. Like she had last night, like she had earlier this morning.

At some point, though, it seemed like even someone using all the logic in the world couldn't hold back an entirely cleansing emotional response.

And she could admit that it was necessary. When she finally pulled back, Rahne felt much better about the roller coaster which the last twenty-four hours had been. She wiped under her eyes and glanced up at Ray's face.

Her eyebrow twitched up at the sight of his own red-rimmed eyes. It was a few hours past, but the evidence was still there. He rolled his eyes. "We're talking about  _you_  right now, Rahne."

She let it go, dragged him back to the couch, and curled her legs up to her chest. "No judgment." They shared a smile.

Rahne felt the shift in the air when he returned to serious consideration of her reason for seeking him out. Now or never. All or nothing. "I haven't been honest with ye, Ray…"

It took half an hour, shouting back at him at one point, and a great deal of flushing on her part, but finally she had spilled everything. Not just what had happened that morning, but catching him up on what she had avoided talking about for months. Months, now, she had kept this part of her life from one of her closest, dearest friends. Even better than the tears, the telling of her whole sordid tale was like a breath of air after nearly drowning.

Ray was not pleased (she had expected that).

But once Rahne had finished, he looked her straight in the eye and said, "No judgment." And his advice was simple. He simply continued holding her gaze, as her cheeks burned red (embarrassment confusion worry). "You know what he wants now. The question you need to answer is: what do you want?"

The only answer she could think was the one she had repeated for so long. "The same. I dinnae want tah lose him, an' I want him."

"As what?"

"My mate." Her heart soared. Inside her chest, she could feel the longing (to howl). "I dinnae want tah go back tah what we were doing. I want more than that."

His smile was that of an indulgent parent for a moment. "Have you been sitting around debating it all day?"

Rahne wanted to say that it was more complicated than he made it seem, that debating how to go about declaring what she wanted on the heels of such a stressful adventure was a perfectly respectable step to take in light of the situation. She wanted to tell him that she was still scared (terrified inside) that he had not meant what she thought (love could equate friendship or platonic or something other than her mate).

She looked away. Her cheeks flushed.

Ray groaned. His head thudded against the back of the couch when he threw it back. "You two are killing me."

She smacked him with the back of her hand. "This isna about ye."

"Rahne. Just do it." When she opened her mouth, his hand appeared and held her jaw shut. "There is nothing stopping you but  _you_."

Well. She couldn't deny that.

Her shoulders stiffened and she tossed her head. Ray laughed and reclined against the couch as she stood, fighting the sudden twisting in her stomach. "There's Rahne! That's who I was waiting to see," he called behind her as she left the room. "That's who Sam's going to want to see!"

Rahne grinned at him over her shoulder just before she left the room. It was a show of more confidence than she actually felt.

Inside, it felt like something was trying to crawl out of her throat. She closed her hands into fists and told her brain to slow down. The walk to the medical wing was going to feel a lot longer if she kept thinking in circles inside her own head.

* * *

(If you don't make the choice, you'll never know.)

His day had been so very long.

Sam was stuck in bed with his leg propped up, foot and ankle held in place by plaster. The uncomfortable cast was going to be a nuisance, but at least he had free use of his hands. Lance slowly went from bored to outright miserable with one hand in a cast and the other wrist held still by a brace.

At least he had a companion for a while. Then, of course, Kitty had come down to visit and that meant he had to lie in bed watching boring daytime TV and listening to the background noise of a conversation between boyfriend and girlfriend.

He liked them both. Truly, he did.

But it was a little too close to home right now, especially since Rahne had not come back down to the medical area after high-tailing it out that morning.

It made him grateful for the endless stream of visitors that swung by—all of his teammates, the older team, even the Brotherhood greeted him in casual and friendly ways. They all provided a distraction from the TV, which he kept strictly away from the news stations, instead devoting himself to soap operas and made-for-TV movies. Distraction at its finest.

Lance was released early in the afternoon. By the evening, everyone had come by and he gently made Jaime promise to spend some time on his homework assignments that evening, instead of hanging out in the medical facilities. That left him alone for the night.

And now, he could not stop thinking about Rahne.

He regretted what he said. He was glad he had the guts to say it. He wished that they could go back—and he felt so much better, finally having put a stop to it. He wanted more, she wanted something else—either more or someone who could give her what he couldn't—and after so long feeling both good and guilty about the whole thing, it was actually a relief to say 'no'. To say 'we deserve more'.

Like Ray seemed to think, the two of them just weren't the type to keep up a casual thing for so long. Sam certainly didn't feel like it was a good idea from the start, but he wasn't exactly thinking with his brain.

It was weird that this disaster was what shook him out of it. His hormones were certainly not happy with him: he wanted to hold her right now, wished that she was at least lying beside him. Close by, comforting and dependable. She was so solid and real when nightmares came—about his dad and the cave-in, about his siblings being the target of any anti-mutant sentiment, and he was sure that there would be more in the future about the FOH.

He firmly reminded himself that he had reasons, damn it, and they were good ones.

The late evening was quiet, because he turned off the TV and just lay in bed with his eyes on the ceiling. Throughout the day in-between visitors, he had been able to keep his mind away from Rahne. Away from the nagging countdown he kept up, reminding himself that she had not come back yet.

He didn't know what to think about that.

Of course she'd need time to think about it. But he was sure, had hoped somehow, that she would have known that she wanted him, too. Thought that maybe she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Had he been fooling himself? Maybe all she wanted from the change in their relationship was exactly what she had gotten.

Maybe he'd ruined their friendship by telling her that he wanted more from her.

Maybe they had ruined their friendship by adding sex to it.

He folded his hands over his eyes to block out the light. Why couldn't his mutant power have been a reset button? Undo? Time travel?

Someone knocked on the doorframe to his current prison. He grunted in acknowledgment, then realized how rude that sounded and cleared his throat. "Come in."

The person's footsteps were soft against the tiled floor, and that alone made him drop his hands. They were hesitant. They were uncertain. His heart leapt in his chest before he even saw her.

Rahne. Who else would have been so cautious right now?

He sat up quickly, fussing at the sheets and his pillows. Trying his hardest not to fidget—because that might freak her out a bit, might startle her. She approached slowly, like a hunted wolf wary of the prey's claws. She didn't know what was going to happen, either.

But he kept staring into her eyes, keeping her there with whatever expression she saw on his face. She stopped at the side of his bed, her fingers pulling and twisting the hem of her T-shirt. One of her lips was caught between her teeth.

He finally found his voice again. "Rahne."

She swallowed, but it did nothing to hold back the tide of words. "I was thinkin' most a' the day, 'cause I dinnae know what ye are askin' for or what ye want."

"I think the question is whether yah even want anything more," he said. His voice was quieter than hers and he purposefully relaxed his shoulders as much as he consciously could.

"I—" She cut herself off. Squared her shoulders. "When I left here this mornin' I think ye were sayin' that ye wanted a real relationship. More than friends who have sex. Was I right, Sam?"

He had to smile at her determined transparency. This was what they had been missing for too long: that blunt honesty. This was the girl he had not even realized was fading from his sight when they were alone.

And his heart felt tight but lighter than air.

"Yes. I don't feel towards yah like I would feel towards a friend, Rahne. But," he cut her off, seeing that she was about to open her mouth. "I said it like I did 'cause I wanted yah to think about what yah wanted. We know what Sam wants—what about Rahne?"

Her hands trembled in front of her, and he just knew that he'd get some teasing later over third-person dialogue. But it was direct, and what's more, he could see that beautiful spark in her eyes light up at the words. The hope he felt before was bursting through him.

She wasn't going to go into something just because she thought it was what he wanted, but making it bluntly clear would get her to talk about what she wanted. And her lips formed that smile he knew so well, a hint of laughter in her voice. "I want ye tah be mine. My friend, my lover. My mate."

"Mate." He tilted his head to the side at that term, one he knew vaguely. One that hinted something very strong.

She let loose a little hiccupping laugh. "Yes. As in, I want ye tah love me the same way I love ye."

He smiled widely and reached out toward her with one hand. She stepped closer willingly, pulling herself to sit on the side of his bed and slipping one hand up his arm. He only managed to say, "Love yah, Rahne," before she was kissing him.

It wasn't chaste or sweet, but neither was it lust and passion. The kiss was simple, deep, and finally everything felt right.

When she leaned back again, she prodded him to lay back down and then curled up next to him. He supported her back as she found an angle that wouldn't stress her bruises too much, and then simply relished in the feeling of having her so close to him.

A moment after they had settled, he asked, "I'd like tah know what 'mate' means to yah."

"I'll tell ye about it later, Sam," she promised. "It means I'm serious about this relationship, and I think it's better for ye and I if I were totally honest about all it means tah me." She sighed. "But can we just  _be_  for a bit?"

Confirm that they're both here and breathing. Get up the courage to tell him some more, serious things. Cherish a memory in case it (for some unlikely reason) drove him away from her. He could let her relax into this some more, as long as she did tell him eventually.

Because maybe he was a stupid teen to think that this was too deep in him to ever walk away from. Maybe they wouldn't last forever. But his ma and pa got married when they were a year older than him and they were happy. Sometimes it just happened that way—you found someone when you were young and lucky.

Whatever it was, he could give Rahne time she needed. "Yeah," he told her. "We can."


	13. Race From Our Schoolyards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "The Lucky Ones" by Brandan James.

(Reality is so much better than fairytales.)

Maybe they were too young to know what they wanted in their adult lives yet. Maybe they wouldn't last when they got older and grew more into themselves. Maybe they would mess it up somewhere along the way.

But no one knew what was going to happen in their future. Destiny or fate, free will and choice: what made them who they were could not warn them of disastrous consequences or possible success.

What they had now was each other. And that was enough.

* * *

Rahne shuffled through the books in her locker, pretending that she couldn't feel eyes watching her every movement. The back of her neck tingled, her awareness of the bustling hallway ratcheting up a notch every time someone's voice grew close before passing harmlessly.

Everyone stared, but kept their distance. It was as if each Institute mutant was in a bubble. Whatever their peers' opinions were, no one had spoken to them yet that day. It was only their first day back, but she'd expected something to happen before now. Yet it was now lunch and not one word about the previous week—or the videos that the news kept playing over and over—had entered the air around her.

She felt some measure of hope that the non-mutant students were simply going to ignore them. It was isolating, but they had each other. And after all the outright hostility, not talking to any of these students would make her very happy indeed.

Although…maybe not talking to the other mutants around her would be a good idea for now, too. A faint frown creased her forehead as she recalled the weekend spent dodging probing questions from her teammates (pack), trying to avoid the kind of gossip that Tabitha was interested in while also worrying about what Sam would say about her. Them. Because they were together, now, she and Sam (her mate).

Her Sam.

She ran her fingers up and down the spine of one of her textbooks, staring into the air without focusing on anything in front of her. It made her feel a lot of different things at once. Of course, it also reminded her why she didn't mind keeping their previous arrangement a secret. Other people had opinions, now. And they didn't mind sharing their opinions whether she asked for them or not.

Shaking her head, she gripped the book she needed for her next class and closed the door of her locker. Despite the recent changes in tone around the school, Rahne would probably never feel like she could space out here again. It was never going to be safe the way it was before FOH, before Apocalypse, before the exposure of mutants to the world…

To think, she hadn't even been in high school yet when that happened. But the aftermath of that had a long-reaching effect. She'd never want to be caught off-guard in public.

Her shoulders were tense. She wasn't happy about the prospect of eating lunch outside, but being inside the cafeteria had felt dangerous the first time they had come to Bayville High. It was too enclosed a space, too many people staring at the known mutant kids from the Institute, and besides she had always loved natural sunlight and the scents of nature. Now, though—now, it was a battlefield she had to return to after defeat. Revisiting the memories would hurt, even when their kidnapped members had returned this time around.

Also, news vans had been parked across the street that morning. And she was willing to bet they hadn't moved yet.

She sensed, rather than saw, the movement of a body stop to her right. Close enough to reach out, not quite close enough to touch. Leaning against the metal, a clunk of the door, and the soft voice she heard in her ear that very dawn now set in the context of a hallway conversation. "Hey, Rahne."

Her smile felt only the smallest bit strained when she turned to reply. "Sam."

His hands were tucked into his pockets and his back was to the wall. He didn't turn his head too much to look at her, keeping an open line of sight on the hallway. But his smile was all for her, and the crutches under his arms were held competently, and the greening bruises that she could see on some of his exposed skin were thrown into sharp relief in the fluorescent lights. She had matching bruises up her ribs, hidden under her shirt, along with one that had developed on her chin the day after the attack.

All of the Institute kids were in similar shape. They showed up in the latter stages of the healing process, all with bruises and scrapes that were green or scabbed over. Some of them looked visually better than others, but Rahne had to wonder if that was one of the reasons their peers were giving them such wide berth—the aftermath they saw that day was at a distance, and the clips available to the news never showed their injuries. Here they were, in the flesh, worn and beat but continuing.

It was a little different this way. Seeing them as people who bled had to do something.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

It did something to the teachers, though. Whether those who had helped—like Ms. Trace, who thankfully treated her like any other student when she came in just last period—had done even more by saying something to the other members of the faculty, or whether it was something as indefinable as seeing those under their care injured so brutally, Rahne would probably never know. But the teachers were looking at them in different ways, now. They'd be put to the test when hostility inevitably returned, when the weekend away dimmed and the other students remembered why they so disliked the mutants in their midst.

Sam tilted his head to the side a small fraction. "Lunch," he said, the single word loaded with implications. He knew very well: he felt it too. She shrugged slightly. "You're out early today," he said.

"I didna stick behind in Ms. Trace's—I ran into her this morning." Sought her out, actually, and thanked her for her assistance the last week. Her favorite teacher expressed her relief in private, so that when class time came around Rahne could fade into the class instead of being singled out even more. She closed her locker door. "Where to?"

"Think I'd rather risk the inside, but I'm not so sure we can avoid the yard forever." They managed it while coming into the school that morning. "Do yah want tah try?

She shook her head, patiently waiting for him to shove off the wall and start his slow path down the hallway. "We canna avoid it."

Ray met up with them halfway down the hall. The others started popping up as well, since Rahne's locker was near the end of the hall on the far side of the school. By the time they reached the doors to head outside, everyone was with them and moving in a group.

Pretense was thick in the air. Like they always did when at school, they pretended to be fine, pretended that they didn't notice eyes on their backs, pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary and that their conversations were uninteresting to any except for themselves. Sam and Rahne responded to Ray, letting him guide their conversation with his rambling mouth.

Exiting the building brought tension straight to her shoulders. She could see the lawn, the angle of the sun the same as it had been that day last week. Lance was lounging around in the Brotherhood house, most likely, and Todd was probably hanging around him. Kitty was with them, her arm looped through Amara's.

She tore her eyes away from the lawn. The group moved as one to an empty picnic table, milling around to find seats. Rahne helped Sam with the crutches and took a seat across from him. They had claimed the end of the table, closest to the grass (in deference to her protective side, determined to place herself between the possible threat and her pack).

Brown bags all around today. They crinkled and filled up the lulling, strained pauses in conversation.

They tried. They all tried. And gradually, they stopped glancing at the grass and paid attention to each other, to keeping half an eye on their strangely-acting peers, and to their food.

Leaning back slightly, Rahne let herself fall out of the conversation for a moment. She glanced to the side, at the street where there were, indeed, news vans. They couldn't be getting a good shot at all—the table they had chosen was shielded by a tree and tucked close to the building.

Sam's hand on hers, over the top of the table, drew her gaze. Those eyes were gentle, loving, and his grin was wide.

She smiled back and angled her body towards the group.


	14. Bonus Material

_**Bonus Material: Playlist and Explanation** _

I have detailed the playlist that I drew titles from for each chapter, a little bonus material in case anyone was interested. These songs kept me going throughout the writing process and inspired the direction of each individual chapter.

* * *

Chapter 1: Young Velvet Porcelain.  _Their first time had been a drunken mistake_. "Candy Perfume Girl" by Madonna.

The song invokes some rather sexual and sensual imagery. With a slow tempo, electronic flourishes that suggested an underwater atmosphere, and lyrics you have to read between the lines to fully understand, "Candy Perfume Girl" echoed the sense that I wanted to capture. The lyrics I chose reflect both Rahne and Sam: although this iconic singer tags the description onto a male, the terms 'velvet' and 'porcelain' indicate a kind of delicacy that easily reflects the nature of the situation, and the way both of them react to their encounter.

Chapter 2: Fight Your Nature.  _In between, there were blurred lines_. "All The Arms Around You" by Halloween, Alaska.

Also heavily electronic, this song caught more of the tension between the characters in statement and question lyrics along with a slowly rising beat. The way the song rose from a slightly darker-feeling sound to a hopeful one caught my ear, because it echoed that sadness and confusion changing into hope. Of course, Rahne and Sam don't resolve their issues in this chapter, but the hope has been present throughout and the further along in the story, the more that the transition clarifies into the end resolution. The lines I chose are blatantly Rahne, as they reflect her decision to resist what she desires.

Chapter 3: Feeling Like I Can't Forgive.  _Their awkward dance had to end sometime_. "What I Wouldn't Give" by Holly Brook.

A steady stream of piano notes and the singer's clear voice create a very soothing, solemn, and sad atmosphere. The lyrics indicate an internal struggle, perhaps over a situation or individual although it is not entirely clear which: the end result is a focus on the conflict internalized, and how one deals with it. I thought this captured Rahne's struggle, especially over a desire to forget. The reason the title is instead about forgiveness is due to the fact that this chapter focuses more on a conflict that Rahne is reluctant to forgive.

Chapter 4: You Just Can't Show Me.  _A pseudo-relationship has its own challenges_. "Desire" by Ryan Adams.

As soft as most of the songs I have chosen, this was one in my arsenal of songs which I felt was the most clearly romantic while also retaining the levels of reluctance and hesitation that have characterized Rahne and Sam so far in their relationship. The lyrics speak to both of them as well, capturing the desire that they share—an aptly-named song, yes? The title doubles as well: it is both Rahne's fear of pushing and Sam's conscious decision to withhold pressuring her, which results in their fling being less of a relationship and more like benefits.

Chapter 5: The Doubt That Fills My Mind.  _And now, for something a little different_. "Collide" by Howie Day.

Piano, guitar, and the usual electronic accompaniments: a popular song, and one that many people would recognize. I thought that this one in particular fit Sam's perspective of this situation because of the lyrics and their subject matter. The confusion, the sense that one is not in control over the situation, and the unexpected are all very present in this song, and there's an added layer of romantic intent to the song that made it fit well with what Sam actually wants. The title chosen is, of course, speaking to his hesitation over whether messing around with Rahne is actually the best decision.

Chapter 6: Iron Bars Can't Hold My Soul.  _It was a school day_. "Savin' Me" by Nickelback.

The slightly harder edge to this song—after the previous five have all been in a much softer range—is a little jarring, but still exactly captures the effect that I wanted. Despite its broadly-defined categorization as rock, this song still has a slow tempo and vocals are smoother than most rock songs. The lyrics require a perspective that is playfully metaphoric and literal in different places, which I enjoyed figuring out in reference to the story. For example, the title using 'iron bars' gives an image of being captured and imprisoned—but that is by both the FOH, and by the school and society.

Chapter 7: Bruised and Broken.  _She never knew what she had until now_. "O'Lord" by Smile Empty Soul.

Although keeping to the lower range of tempo and notes, this song still has an appealing build up to a heavier feeling than it does upon the start of the song. That buildup caught my ear first, and the lyrics followed after. They are a plea for help and longing, and although Rahne does not cry out to any deity and instead relies upon herself, I thought the lyrics captured something essentially human/mutant to the situation. It is easy to hear many voices, and—like with the previous song—hear many layers of metaphor in respect to the situation. The title captures one of those images, too.

Chapter 8: An Uneven Trade.  _The worst moment is letting go._  "Fields of Innocence" by Evanescence.

Both for this chapter and as the main title, this song was especially important to the overall creation of this story. Female voices singing unclear notes, electronic effects, and the slightly windy feel of this very slow, sad and longing song were enough to shape the fragments of my idea for these characters. I thought that it caught the despair felt in the very worst parts of the story—the attack, the capture, the imprisonment. The title of this chapter was chosen mostly in reference to broader mutant issues: they did nothing to deserve attack, and the choices they are left with are unfair. Their anonymity was traded for infamy in the present, and it's unclear whether the future will be much brighter.

Chapter 9: Lines of Fear and Blame.  _Going in and going under_. "How to Save a Life" by The Fray 

It may seem a startling change from the much darker sound of the previous song, but the lyrics are not much happier despite the lighter sounds of piano, drum, and singer, all in higher ranges and at a mildly faster beat. The song is all about a disagreement, loss, and feeling lost. This one is about a lot of the feelings that Sam and Rahne dealt with throughout the story. Other lyrics capture moments such as the girls' decision to disobey Professor Xavier's command. The title captures that and broader mutant issues from this story, focusing on 'lines' being drawn and the emotions that accompany them.

Chapter 10: Whistling a New Tune.  _Waking up has never been so hard_. "All Good Things (Come to an End)" by Nelly Furtado.

As important as Evanescence's contribution, this song was one of the very first that inspired the relationship between Sam and Rahne, and the way it played out in this story. The rhythm and sound of this song make it feel peaceful, the lyrics indicating a lingering sadness over the loss of something happy. If I were not a hopeless romantic, this story would have ended with this song wrapping it up into a not-happy ending. Fortunately for you if you like Rahne and Sam together, I thought twice and recalled that an end can be a new beginning: 'whistle a new tune' and progress from that point. Hence the title.

Chapter 11: Hold My Breath and Jump Right In.  _Sometimes it has to get worse to heal_. "Control" by Garbage.

Although not originally one of the songs I had chosen for this story, I heard this song when it came out recently and I changed what was here before (another song by The Fray). Despite being a later addition, I feel that this song is partly romantic, partly tough about being so, and very badass. The lyrics caught my ear as travelling close to Rahne's thoughts—particularly the 'maybe's. It starts off soft like the other songs, but the crescendo to grittier rock was something I thought echoed the progression of this story. The longest title in this story is appropriately clear on Rahne's decision.

Chapter 12: Race From Our Schoolyards.  _Reality is so much better than fairytales_. "The Lucky Ones" by Brendan James

This song is also a newer addition to the story. It was difficult to figure out what song to have here: after chapters of tracing all the teenage confusion and angst of a relationship, I wasn't quite sure how to end up on the happy note that I wanted, with a song that was romantic and hopeful. It's changed several times, but I finally settled on this pop song because although it is hopeful, the lyrics are also a little bit questionable: 'hands like loaded guns' indicates a bit of danger, caution, and uncertainty. The title is a reminder that even though in my headcanon the characters stay together—a happy ending depends on where you stop the story. And high school romances all go 'into the unknown' with no certainty of success.


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